


Leaving the House

by spacemystic



Category: Control (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:19:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 33,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24535267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacemystic/pseuds/spacemystic
Summary: Lockdown has ended and staff of the Federal Bureau of Control are finally allowed to go home to their normal lives at the end of each day. But head of research Emily Pope soon finds that the Bureau's enemies are no longer confined to the Oldest House.While Director Fayden and the mysteriously-reappeared Casper Darling are occupied with a threat in the House, Pope and head of security Simon Arish find their fates intertwined with a new enemy in the outside world.
Relationships: Casper Darling/Jesse Faden, Emily Pope/Simon Arish
Comments: 38
Kudos: 29





	1. Emily goes home

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Full of Stars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24329854) by [laudanum_and_wine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laudanum_and_wine/pseuds/laudanum_and_wine). 



> (takes place roughly in the same world.)
> 
> Critique welcome.

Emily Pope exited through the glass doors of the Federal Bureau of Control and turned onto the sidewalk of Sixth Avenue, joining a flow of evening commuters. It was the smell, more than anything -- urine, Lebanese food, and diesel fumes -- that reminded her she was no longer in the Oldest House. Vast as it was, that place had a very limited palette of smells: Blackrock dust, office carpet, and cave-like mustiness. After a month of lockdown in that place, she had almost forgotten how many other smells existed. New York was a collage of smells, the same way it was a collage of ambitions, a collage of lives. Ordinary lives. Lives where ashtrays sat quietly on tables and refrigerators kept food cold and people you worked with everyday didn’t suddenly turn murderous or die violent deaths. Emily passed a dour man in a slim blue suit, and then a woman speaking on a headset and making big hand gestures. She tried to blink away flashes of the man’s eyes turning red and shake off the sound of the woman’s voice chanting in monotone. 

This was only the third day Emily was able to leave work since the crisis. The House was still under threat, and the amount of research needed was endless, but the Director had ordered her home, had ordered all her senior staff to transition back to regular shifts. It was jarring. Emily knew she should be grateful, but instead she felt exposed, empty. She kept reaching instinctively to make sure the Hedron Resonance Amplifier was secured to her chest. It was not. As head of research, she herself had signed the memo stating that HRAs were not needed outside the House. And yet she reached for the empty space over her sternum while once more trying to think of a counterfactual to that conclusion. None came.

In the old days, Emily would have taken the subway three stops to her apartment, but now she walked. She had spent enough time without windows. At work, her mind was well enough occupied by Fourier transforms and the geometry of interdimensional intersections (that one made for a lot of head scratching at meetings). Now, her thoughts were unmoored. The electric bill. Bloody carpet. Her missed dinner with Georgia. Trench’s paranoid eyes. Groceries. As she neared her apartment in Chinatown, she passed a trio of hipsters smoking outside a well-hidden Apothecary-themed bar. She longed for a drink, but not for a crowd, and settled on wine at the corner store. Next door, a row of golden roast duck carcasses, stretched long, hung in a shop window. They did no look like her Hiss-enthralled coworkers, floating near the ceiling, she told herself. The limb angles were different. 

Pull it together, Emily. This is what you signed up for. Was it? Once she learned about paraphysics, there really was no going back. And the FBC was the only place to study it that mattered. Theoretically, she could have stuck with string theory, stayed in academia. Her would-be paraphysics advisor had even warned her not to join his group. “Once you start studying strange phenomenon,” Dr. Shellbrake had said, “strange phenomenon will tend to find you. It’s not like studying gravity. These forces know when you’re looking for them.”

At the time the notion had seemed thrilling. Knowledge above all else! That was always her way. Even after she joined the Bureau. Even as she saw subjects lose their minds and agents sent to their deaths. Calculated sacrifices for knowledge. But this crisis. So much blood. Trench and Darling thought they could control the forces, but they were toddlers playing with tidal waves. Now all she could do was build life rafts. 

Emily set her shopping bag down on the kitchen table, pulled off her shoes, and soaked in the utter strangeness and familiarity of her own apartment. The smells of rotting food and stale air lingered, though she had cleaned out the moldering produce and trash on her first night home. She padded across her sparse living room and opened the window to fall air. She flipped the TV to the most mind-numbing thing she could find -- Naked Bachelor Survival Island, or some such -- poured a glass of cheap French red and set to microwaving a pasta dinner. 

Three glasses and two episodes later, Emily was well on her way to muffling her own thoughts when the phone rang. The landline. Though she also had a cellphone, she couldn’t bring it into the Oldest House, so she never got used to relying on it. Only her parents and her sister called her landline, and it was a little late for all of them. Emily rose from the sofa and wobbled to the receiver. The caller ID was just a number, and it had the prefix of the local FBC. She steeled herself for an emergency, and answered. 

“This is Pope.”

There was silence on the line, then a click, then static. Horrible static. Piercing, migraine-inducing static. And then she was flinging the receiver away, and then her knees were buckling, and then everything went red.


	2. A missing friend

Director Jesse Faden had just teleported back from her mid-morning patrol in Maintenance. She surveyed the Central Executive: nothing concerning. Simon Arish, head of Security, was at his usual station. A handful of agents from Security and Research milled around the perimeter of the atrium. They had turned briefly to watch Jesse’s appearance, but now went back to their folders and conversations as she strode toward her office. Except for one young woman, who rushed to catch up with Jesse as she walked. 

“Director!” the girl called. It was ... Clarissa? A new hire. She wore a gray skirt suit set that Jesse never could have afforded, and an expression full of eagerness and fear.

“Clarissa. What’s the news?” The girl flashed a smile, perhaps surprised the Director had remembered her name.

“These messages,” she said, and handed Jesse several slips of paper. “Three employees haven’t reported in for their shifts, and we haven’t been able to reach them by phone.” Jesse flipped through the notes. There was a ranger who’s name she didn’t recognize, a new field agent who she’d just interviewed two days ago, and Emily Pope.

“Pope hasn’t come in?” There were a lot of reasons someone might not be at work by 11:00 am. Especially with the new people, Jesse could imagine them taking a look around the FBC and deciding to never return. But Emily lived and breathed her work. She had been one of hardest to convince to go home. 

“No, sir.” 

Jesse stopped mid-stride and turned to face Clarissa. The girl looked like she expected Jesse to grow shark’s teeth and bite off her head at any moment.

“One more thing,” said Clarissa.

“Yes.”

“There were two messages on the main switchboard last night. Both from agents at home who claimed to be returning a call from the FBC, but there is no record that anyone here tried to reach them.” Clarissa offered two more slips of paper to Jesse, and then prepared for that bite.

“Shit.” Jesse snatched the notes and stalked back toward the atrium. Four steps in, she paused and turned back to Clarissa. Fresh out of school, third day on the job, and this girl had already had to process a supernatural office building and an extra-dimensional invasion. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention,” Jesse said. She looked Clarissa in the eyes with her best, I-acknowledge-and-appreciate-you, we-deal-with-this-all-time expression, and continued back down the hall.

“Arish.”

“Good morning, Director. May I say, I am really enjoying this new policy of going home at night.”

“Emily hasn’t come in and we can’t get a hold of her. I have a bad feeling. I want you to take a detail and find her. Might as well check on these others, too.” She handed over the three notes.

“You mean, go to their homes?”

“Yes. Whatever you need to do.”

“You know we have field agents, right?” Simon flinched. “That was stupid. Of course you know, you’re the Director.”

Jesse smirked. “I suspect this is a matter of internal security.” She laid down the other two notes. “Off-duty agents were getting calls last night from an FBC number.”

Simon examined the papers. He glanced around, leaned in close, and whispered, “you think there’s a mole?”

Jesse tilted her head to the side and then back. “I don’t know. But I trust you. Go find Emily.”

Simon straightened to attention, a habit from his ranger days, but he stopped short of saluting. “Of course, Director.”

Jesse spun and jogged toward the Control Point. She reached through it with her mind and found the node for Central Research. In a rush like jumping into a pool at midday, full of tingling bubbles and refracted light, she teleported. Then the bubbles dissipated and the world went from blurry to clear, revealing the large potted plants of Central Research. She headed to the entrance of the Ashtray Maze. 

She needed to see Darling. Her world had shifted and shattered so many times in the last two months. Just as it seemed things might settle into some manageable routine, she was being reminded how few allies she knew she could trust. And fewer friends. Emily was both. Casper Darling was neither. Or at least, not yet. But he was the closest thing to a comfort she had had in recent weeks. And that was not why she was running to him. With Emily out of reach, he was the only person in the FBC who she knew could answer the question. 

Jesse found Darling in his office, tinkering with one of the next-generation HRAs. He didn’t look up, though she knew that he could feel her coming from a sector away. She crossed his office, pulled a wheeled side chair up to his workbench, and sat to face him eye-to-eye. Darling looked up and smiled. It was a twisted, half smile, the closest thing to a social smile he had been able to manage since his reappearance. It meant he suspected Jesse was about to say something bad. It was not like his genuine smile, which was beautiful, and Jesse expected she was the only one who ever saw it. Whatever had happened to Darling on the astral plane, he had come back seemingly without the capacity to lie or to hide things in his face. It was a charming trait for a dangerous man. 

“I need to know if the Hiss can travel over a phone line,” Jesse said.

Darling blinked. He sat back in his chair, adjusted his glasses. “No,” he said. “The band of frequencies carried by the telephone network is very narrow. The Hiss have to transmit on many, layered frequencies to infect someone, way outside the range of human hearing.”

Jesse told him about the morning’s events. 

“I see,” said Darling. “Well, perhaps Dr. Pope was simply tired and overslept.” He made another bad half-smile. This one meant he was worried.

“Well, think about it, Doctor.” She rose. “I sent Arish to investigate. Hopefully we’ll find out more soon.” Darling nodded. Jesse reached over and squeezed his shoulder. She knew her touch could focus him. His smile softened toward genuine, but he was still distracted by something. Jesse turned and left.


	3. For a ride

The Director’s words echoed in Simon Arish’s head after she had poofed away to another sector. “I trust you.” The words sounded nice, but they must mean something else. “I’m depending on you, so don’t fuck up,” for example, or “you were the last one standing when every better security officer was killed, so I’m stuck with you.” But it still begged the question, who did he trust? His friends were dead. At the Director’s hands, even. They were Hiss-infected puppets at the time, but it still stung. And now he needed a partner who he knew wasn’t a mole.

Simon scanned down his personnel roster. So few of his old team had ever made it out of Maintenance. His senior guards now were people he knew in passing, not well. There was Alan Chen. They weren’t friends, but they had gone through training together. Simon remembered Alan enough to tell whether he’d been possessed by an alien frequency, probably. Plus, he always had an agreeable aura about him.

Simon gathered his notes and made his way toward Alan’s post. One partner was technically still a detail right? It’s not like he had extra guards to backfill with if he brought a big team.

He found Alan in Communications. They had started using the Pneumatic system again, but it still needed a lot of repairs. No one outside of Maintenance appreciated how delicate that system is.. One little crack can block tube egress for an entire sector. No help that the Director seems to like pulling chunks out of walls.

“Alan, I need you to come with me on a special assignment.”

Alan raised his eyebrows. “Of course, boss.” Alan was a lean man, no taller than Arish, with long, black hair slicked back, and lively eyes. “Lawrence here was starting to smell anyway.” Yep, that was Alan he remembered.

Simon turned to the other guard, who was rolling his eyes all the way to Research. “Lawrence, do you think you can finish the shift solo? We’re kinda stretched.”

Lawrence looked momentarily worried, then said, “Yeah boss. We haven’t seen Hiss activity down here for a couple weeks.”

With a nod, Simon and Alan set off toward the street entrance.

“So what’s the special assignment?”

“Three employees haven’t reported in today and can’t be reached by phone. We’re going to go check on them.”

“Are we going after every intern that plays hooky now?”

“I hope not. This one’s an order from the Director. She said she had a bad feeling.” Simon also had a bad feeling, but he didn’t mention it.

“They’re probably just hungover. I mean, first night home was something to celebrate right?”

Simon thought of his first night home, finding his apartment in Queens half empty. Janet had moved out in the middle of the lockdown and taken all her stuff, saying she couldn’t handle that kind of instability. She had left all the kitchen cabinets open.

Alan read Simon’s silence the wrong way. “Not that I party like that anymore! Not since the wife and kids, you know?”

“Oh. Yeah, sure. It’s probably nothing.”

They walked without words for a while, then passed one of those portraits of Director Faden. Alan pointed at it. “So you know the Director?”

“I wouldn’t say that. But I work with her every day.”

“And what she like?”

Simon glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was behind them. “Determined. And I think she means well. This wasn’t exactly an easy thing to walk in to, and she’s really trying.” He paused. “You ever seen her fight the Hiss?”

“No.”

“Terrifying. She’ll lift a man into the air and snap his neck with her mind, turn around and hurl a forklift at someone else. She can get shot five times and just heal up and walk away. I mean, I’m glad we have that kind of firepower on our side. Where would we be if she hadn’t stepped in, right? But ... terrifying.”

Alan thought a while. “Better than Trench, though. He seemed like a real asshole.”

“Seems like Directors of things usually are.”

“What about Heads of things?” Alan’s smile signaled it was only a tease. But it had to be strange that they came up together, then Simon had gone from a grunt in Maintenance to Alan’s boss.

“I guess we’ll see.”

They exited the main FBC building and crossed the stark plaza to the garage entrance next door. The motorpool had a wide selection of identical black SUVs, along with some larger vehicles disguised with utilities logos. Simon signed out an SUV. Thankfully, being outside the Oldest House, the vehicles included such modern conveniences as dispatch radios and GPS. Simon pulled up to the exit and started punching in an address.

“Where’re we headed first, boss?”

“Chinatown.”

Alan flipped through Simon’s notes while Simon pulled into the lunch rush on Sixth Avenue. “Emily Pope. That’s the new head of Research, right? The smokin’ blonde?”

“Yes. No.” Yes. “I mean, she is the new head of research.”

“No, she’s not smoking hot?”

“Yes. I mean, no. I mean, if you’re into that sort of thing.” Humble geniuses with kind eyes and perfect skin.

“Oh I get it. Now that you’re the boss, you probably got a whole new round of sensitivity training.” Alan put his hands up in surrender. “Forget I said anything. One thing I don’t need is more training.”

“Not a problem.”

“So what’s the plan here?”

“We go and find out if Dr. Pope is alright. If she’s not home, we try to find her.”

“What kind of threat are we expecting?”

“I don’t know.”

“Hiss? They’re not supposed to be able to get outside the House, right?”

“Right.”

“So?”

“Just be ready.”

They arrived at the apartment building and went to the entry. Simon pressed the buzzer for 304: “Pope”. There was no answer. They were wearing their security uniforms: navy blue ties over black shirts with the FBC logo. They could probably pass for law enforcement and get the building manager to open up the door. But that would take time. Simon went to the door. It was locked, of course, solidly. He pulled a credit card out of his wallet. It wasn’t the type of lock you could really pick with a credit card, but it made a decent cover. Simon glanced back at Alan, and then shifted his position slightly to obscure Alan’s view. With his mind, Simon reached into the lock, looked for the buzzer circuit, and crossed it. One of his little parlor tricks, as he called them. Just as he felt the mechanism shift, he pushed through the door.

“Hey, how’d you do that?”

“Practice,” said Simon. It wasn’t a lie.

They took the stairs to Emily’s door. Already, Simon could tell there was trouble on the other side. He made three loud knocks.

“Dr. Pope? It’s Simon Arish.” They heard television through the door, but nothing else. Simon banged again. “Dr. Pope?” No reply. “We’re coming in.” Simon didn’t want to be too showy with the parlor tricks. Deadbolts were harder, anyway. He opted for the boot method. After signaling for Alan to cover the right side, he drew his pistol and kicked the door. It gave way on the third blow. Simon moved straight through the short hall while Alan turned right into the kitchen. Simon immediately found Emily on the living room floor, sprawled on her side, across the room, a phone buzzed off the hook. The TV blared. Simon went to her and motioned for Alan to check the bedroom. Simon reached for pulse, but then found she was breathing, and stirred slightly.

A few moments later, Alan came back. “Clear,” he said.

Simon looked down. “Emily. Emily, it’s Simon.” He tried gently to wake her with no response. Her head was turned to the side. He lowered his own head near to the ground and raised her eyelid to check her pupil response. Her eye was red. Everywhere the whites should be was red. Instinctively he jumped back.

“Hiss?” Alan asked. He trained his gun on the doctor.

This was Simon’s worst fear. That Emily would be infected and he would have to kill her. But he didn’t draw his gun, and neither did she move. There was no hovering or chanting. “I don’t know,” he said. Simon crouched again and opened her other eyelid. Her red eyes did not track him, but the pupils did contract. “Emily?” he repeated.  
“You’ve reached Emily,” she said.

“Emily! It’s Simon.”

“Sorry I can’t come to the phone right now.”

“Emily, it’s Simon Arish from the FBC. Are you hurt?”

“Leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

“Emily?”

“What’s wrong?” asked Alan. He had lowered his gun, but still held it ready.

“I have no idea,” said Simon. “Call the House. See if you can get the Director.”

Simon checked her for injuries. She was in her work clothes. Her shirt was untucked and unbuttoned at the top. That, and the TV and full glass of wine on the coffee table suggested she had been like this since last night. But there was no bruising that he could find. He checked her cervical spine. “Does this hurt?” he asked, prodding.

“Leave a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can,” she said. Her tone was every bit like a voicemail message, but her face above her mouth expressed nothing while she spoke. For what it was worth, she didn’t flinch at any of his probes to her neck. He wanted to make sure, so he reached in with his mind. He ‘looked’ up and down her spine, another one of his parlor tricks. Her necked seemed healthy. The rest of her seemed ... healthy. Until he got up to her head. Inside her head hung a cloud of terrible static. A headache immediately struck Simon. He broke contact and stumbled back from his haunches.

“What is it?” Alan asked Simon. He had spoken briefly with Dispatch and was currently on hold.

“I don’t know if it’s Hiss, but I think something’s got a hold of her.” Simon stood and looked to Alan, who held up a finger while he listened on the phone.

“Copy,” Alan said, then cupped his hand over the phone. “The Director’s out on patrol. They’ll leave her a message to call us.” Simon nodded. “Should we bring her in?” Alan motioned to Dr. Pope.

“Yes. I’m pretty sure the Director’s going to want to see her right away.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arish is the only character besides Jesse that has a reationship with Ahti. Ahti likes him. They have lunches together. To me this says Arish has some latent paranatural ability and/or that Ahti has some plan for him. Maybe its what drew Arish to a job at the FBC, but I can imagine a lot of reasons Arish might have wanted to keep those abilities secret, given how the FBC treats its parautilitarians.


	4. Stomping around

Darling cleared a conference table of papers with two wide swipes of his arm. Arish and the med tech hoisted Emily’s limp form onto the table from the gurney she had been riding. The Medical Wing was still a mess, its staff were gone, and anyway, the Director had wanted to keep her friend close. So here they were in an executive meeting room with the not-exactly-catatonic Head of Research. Jesse approached the table urgently and the other three stepped back to give her space. She put her hands on Emily’s wrist and shoulder and leaned down.

“Emily, it’s Jesse. Can you hear me?”

“You’ve reached Emily. Sorry I can’t come to the phone right now,” Emily said, without movement or expression.

“If you can hear me, try to blink.”

“Leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” Her eyelids didn’t move.

Jesse breathed a sigh. She had heard Simon’s report already, but it was worth a try.

“Fascinating,” Darling said. Jesse shot him a withering look. He shrugged. “It is. I’ve never seen this before.” He approached and looked closely at his former assistant’s face, then opened one of her eyelids. He straightened and there was a collective tightening of muscles in the room as the LED-red of her eye came into view.

Darling took a step back and raised a hand to his chin. “This is a novel set of symptoms for a Hiss infection. If indeed this happened outside the House, perhaps the infection is not as deep, or the means of control not as strong.” He paused, then looked to Jesse. “You could try cleansing her.”

“No. The last time I tried that, I killed the woman. Maybe this is different, but I still can’t take that kind of risk on Emily.”

“Sorry I can’t come to the phone right now,” Emily said. They all watched her for a while. Nothing more came. The med tech took an ancient portable heart monitor from the gurney and began attaching electrodes.

Jesse turned to Simon. “Did you see anything else in her apartment that might be useful?”

Simon took a breath. “Like I said, from the state of things, it looked like she lost consciousness last night. The handset was on the ground, about six feet away. No sign of a struggle. There was an open window, but you couldn’t really access it from outside.” He paused. “Well, you could.”

Jesse smirked, then turned away in thought. “So the timing fits the phantom calls from the FBC last night. Casper, where in the House can you call an outside line?”

“Not many places. The House doesn’t like phones much. Other than, you know. There’s the front desk, the switchboard off the lobby. And, um, Dispatch?”

“Okay,” Jesse said, “I’ll sweep those areas for Hiss activity. Simon, get extra security on those places. We can’t have any more of these calls going out, if that is what’s going on. And then you get back out there. We still have two people missing.”

“Got it,” Simon replied.

“And Casper,” Jesse looked down at Emily and then back at Darling, “figure something out.” The last part was more plea than command.

Darling’s expression softened. “I’ll do my very best.”

Simon had seen signs of Darling’s affection for the Director before, but to see this new emotion written so plainly on Darling’s face -- what was it? Humility? Compassion? -- made him wonder how deep the connection went. He decided it was above his pay grade and followed the Director out the door. He found Alan waiting on the bench at the end of the hall.

“Round two,” he said. “Get the vehicle and meet me out front.”

“I love driving in the city,” was Alan’s reply.

~~~

Of the two missing people, the new field agent was named Tracy Kholsa, and she was a transfer from Albuquerque. Simon supposed she could be forgiven for living in Midtown because she was new to the area and didn’t know any better. The ranger was Warren McClellan, who Simon had met from time to time but not worked with. He lived deep in Staten Island, which confirmed a slight bias that Simon felt against him. Despite that, rush hour traffic was starting to set in, and if they didn’t head straight for the bridge, they’d lose an extra hour on it, at least. (The FBC did not like to be flashy; their hidden sirens were only to be used as a last resort.) So they went first to Mr. McClellan’s.

As they neared the address, Alan’s manner grew unusually dire. “You know what I’m thinking, boss?”

Maybe if I really worked at it. “What’s that?”

“I know you said this probably isn’t the Hiss we’re dealing with.”

“Yeah, but we don’t know.”

“We don’t know. And you saw what happened to most of the scientists with the Hiss. They were stuck, right? Floating and chanting and whatever. But not dangerous. Like Pope.”

“Yeah.”

“The rangers, though.”

“Oh.”

“All armed, all dangerous.”

“That’s a good point.” Simon now wished he’d brought more people. “Okay, we’re going to approach with caution. Any sign of hostility, we’ll call in local police. Only pursue at a distance.”

“Works for me.”

The address they came to was a small, squat house which differed from the other postwar houses on the block mainly by its large American flag. The grass was a few weeks overgrown, and curtains were drawn across the three-panel front window. They watched the house for a while from the street and saw no movement. Simon got out and led them on a sniper-resistant approach to the front door. As they went, he mentally reached into the house. No Hiss. They were easy to sense at this distance, and he felt nothing like that. Also, no sense of dread like there was outside of Emily’s apartment. He relaxed a notch, but knew his hunches weren’t everything.

Simon knocked loudly. “Warren McClellan, this is Simon Arish with the FBC.” A dog barked in response. There was the thumping of little legs on carpet, but no other reply. He knocked again. Another bark. “Warren McClellan, are you are home?” At this point, Simon could sense that Warren wasn’t there. He was about to use the credit card trick, but found the door was unlocked. He whispered to Alan. “How are you with dogs?” Alan made a ‘so-so’ gesture. Fortunately, Simon had an affinity with them. He drew his weapon and opened the door, overlooking the dog for a moment to sweep the small living room and hall, the took several steps back out of line of sight and made quick friends with a fat black pug, who he later learned was named “Martha”.

They entered and swept the two-bedroom house. What they found inside was unremarkable if you’ve been to the G.I. Bill bachelor pads of more than a few Federal security officers, which both Simon and Alan had: an overstuffed armchair, a generous weight set, a freezer full of frozen dinners. What was more interesting was the caller ID log: an FBC number at 8:23pm the night before. And then there was the gun case, open and empty. They didn’t find a lead as to where Mr. McClellan was headed, but if he had packed for a long trip, it wasn’t obvious.

Vowing to himself to come back for Martha if this wasn’t resolved soon, Simon put out fresh food and water. She had returned from a jaunt around the front lawn.

At this prompt, Alan asked, “How did this dog survive if Warren was in lockdown for a month?”

“She must have been with a friend, who probably just returned her.” Simon pointed at Alan. “Good thinking. Make a note to follow up with all the numbers on the caller ID log from the last three days.” Alan complied.

From there, they made their way back to Manhattan and crawled to Midtown under cloud-darkened dusk. Agent Kohlsa’s 23rd-floor apartment was also vacant, also had a landline with an FBC number in the call log, and offered even less in the way of clues. Kohlsa had barely unpacked, save a mattress on the floor and one serving of kitchenware. They left a note for Kohlsa to call headquarters, and then returned to the Oldest House empty handed.

~~~

Simon went directly to Emily, whose state was unchanged, though her EKG was now displayed on a device, accompanied by the slow beeping of a heart monitor. Darling was there with carts of equipment and several of the new NRA’s, very carefully turning a nob, making a note on a clipboard, and repeating. He gave Simon only a brief glance. Soon Jesse arrived, having heard about Simon’s return. Again, she had already been briefed over the phone, but she asked anyway, “and you have no lead on where these people went?”

“I can’t say we do. But we’re still following up with family, friends, and neighbors from the clearance files.” Jesse was looking him hard in the eyes, and he felt the inadequacy of what he’d said in her gaze. Then she turned away with an exasperated expression that suggested the sound of a forklift striking human flesh.

Jesse took several paces around the front of the conference table. “Can anybody tell me anything about what we’re dealing with?”

Darling looked up and then looked to Simon while the two of them had a silent negotiation about who would lose the first limb.

Simon lost. “I can give you my hunch,” he said.

“Please,” Jesse said.

“I don’t think this is the Hiss we’re dealing with. The Hiss tries to infect everything it can reach. If it could reach outside, we would have a lot more than three affected. Whatever it was only made a handful of calls. That says to me that someone or something is executing a plan. Dr. Pope must be part of that plan.”

Darling adjusted his glasses. “I agree with Mr. Arish. Usually, I can get some kind of reaction from a Hiss infected by transmitting on one of the Hiss-associated frequencies. So far Emily hasn’t responded to any of the known bands.”

“Okay, great, so it’s not the Hiss. What is it?” Arish and Darling had no response, but Jesse’s right hand had a restless quality. It hovered tensely and then settled on her waistband, conspicuously close to the Service Weapon.

“It’d like to check the Archives,” said Darling, “see if I can find a reference to this voicemail behavior.”

If Darling is plotting an escape, “And I better check on the contact tracing effort,” Simon added quickly.

Jesse blinked. “Oh. Okay. I’ll watch Emily. Let me know as soon as you’ve got something.”

Simon went to the Switchboard room, nodded to the two guards stationed outside, and slipped in. He found Alan, Clarissa, and one of Pope’s longtime assistants, Jerome, making calls and checking off lists. The Director was still operating under the assumption that insiders were involved in whatever had happened, so they were keeping knowledge of the events close. Simon could tell from the mood of the room as he entered that no breakthroughs had been made. Still, he questioned Alan with his eyes. Without stopping the call he was on, Alan responded with a shake of the head. Simon left without interrupting their work.

He walked back toward Central Executive, helpless and useless. Not knowing what he’d do when he got back there, he slowed to a stroll, and then stopped. He took a position at the transition between the greeting hall and the executive suite, and stood. Standing was something he was good at. He could stand for eight hours, easily, and never doze off. Standing was his Goddamned specialty. He was the son of a seamstress from Queens and an alcoholic, with an associate’s degree and a pile of dead meathead friends. Who put him in charge of anything? The Hiss, basically.

It was after hours now, and no one was coming by. It reminded Simon of the long, quiet shifts in Maintenance. There was a lot to be said for those. He didn’t need a fancy title to make his mom proud. A steady paycheck and a uniform already put her over the moon. He remembered daily chats with Garish and Peters, and Scottie, who was also from Queens. Those guys could shoot the shit. And then he thought of someone he used to talk to, someone who, it so happened, wasn’t dead.

Simon started back for the Central Executive, but he detoured for the Sector Elevator, and took it to Maintenance. There, he walked the outskirts of the power plant. Already the sound of shifting metal pipes and piston whir, the feel of steam-warmed air, was grounding him. He took a side door and, confirming a hunch, found the Head Janitor in his office.

“Ahti!” Simon called to the middle-aged, leather-skinned Finn he used to take lunch with.

“Mr. Arish. Always a pleasure,” Ahti said in a heavy accent. “Please, pull a seat.” Simon rolled a battered metal chair up to the janitor’s desk. As he did, Ahti pointed at his feet. “Your shoes are so much bigger now. You stomp around since our last chat.”

Simon chuckled. “You could say that.” He settled into the chair.

Ahti folded his big hands on the desk. “What are you hearing?”

“Ahti, there’s a new threat to the House. I’m supposed to help but I hit a dead end.”

Ahti waved a callused hand dismissively. “A threat, a threat, a rascal in the harbor, it is not so furry.”

“I’m not sure. The Head of Research was attacked. Darling is trying to fix it, but it looks pretty bad.”

“So there is a girl. She is trapped by something?”

 _Well, that’s simplifying a bit, but_ , “Yeah. Static. Like the Hiss, but not the same.”

“She is trapped by sound.” Ahti made a loud ‘shhh.’

“Right.” Simon was no longer surprised by Ahti’s paranatural insight.

“The voices are too quiet,” Ahti said. “You must turn up the volume.” Ahti reached for the portable cassette player and headphones on his desk, and pushed play. “When I mop near the Waterworks and the sound is coming,” he shook his hands near his ears and made the ‘shhh’ sound again, “I just...” he spun the knob on the cassette player “... turn up the volume.” Bleeding through the headphones, they heard a bossa nova.

“Okaaaaay. How do I turn up the volume on Emily?”

“Some music, Joo? Play some music to remind her who she is.”

“You mean, literally play her music?”

“Don’t sing it yourself! Not with your voice. Headphones work.”

“Which music?”

“I like music,” Ahti hummed along.

“Sure, but --” Ahti put on the headphones, apparently signaling the end of the conversation.

Simon stood. “Thanks Ahti,” he yelled, and started for the door.

Ahti called after him. “Arish.” Simon turned. “The girl from Jersey.”

At once, Simon remembered Janet and felt hollow.

“Don’t worry so much. What comes singing leaves whistling.” Simon paused for a minute. Ahti had already spun his chair around and was bopping arrhythmically to bossa nova. Simon turned back and headed for the Sector Elevator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I banged my head on this chapter for two days without getting more than a paragraph, then decided I can’t pants this story anymore and went back and did character work and a plot outline. That got me to a place where I could draft it, but I feel like I ended up with way too much boring spear-carrying plot development, which maybe I should cut.
> 
> I know in my heart that Warren McClellan has a tubby little dog, even though this causes several needless story complications. I don’t know how real agents would handle that situation on entry, I don’t know how the dog survived, and I have no idea what happens to him after this scene. Simon really considered taking him on the whole damn adventure, but it was just too much of a distraction when lives are at stake. 
> 
> As always, critique welcome. I have a feeling there are some lines of dialogue where I didn’t hit the right voice.


	5. Don't rain on my black parade

Jesse breathed awake in her conference chair. The first thing in her awareness was the same thing that had lulled her to sleep: the steady, slow beep of Emily Pope’s heart. The second thing was the soreness in her neck. She reached for it, rubbing the ache that had stalked her since she left Ordinary. She opened her eyes and Emily was there, unmoved, unmoving.

She had first met Emily as a scared voice through a safe room intercom. Emily had had no reason to trust her then, except necessity, and Jesse’s reasons for helping her were not selfless. But even then, and through all the shit they’ve been through since, Emily had never tried to hide anything. She had never put a personal plan above helping the organization. And maybe those were the things that Jesse had liked about her since the beginning.

If someone like Emily had come to Ordinary all those years ago, the world might be much different. But instead it was the men, Trench and Darling, with their secret agendas and arrogant ambitions. Jesse didn’t deserve to be Director, but neither did men like Trench, and that consoled her. As Director, she might help avoid disasters like Ordinary, like the Hiss, like Dylan. But she needed Emily. She needed someone else she could turn to who noticed the secrets and the cavalier attitudes were stupid. She needed someone to confirm that she wasn’t crazy.

Jesse got up and went to the side of the table. It was just past 2:00 am by the clock on the wall, four hours since Simon had stopped by to say he had a lead and needed to go back to Emily’s apartment. Darling was not back from Archives. She had sent the others home. So she was alone to keep watch. Hell, she was going to sleep in an office anyway; it was no big sacrifice. Jesse took Emily’s hand. She realized that she didn’t know where Emily was from, or if she had siblings that would miss her if she disappeared. She didn’t know what Emily liked to eat outside of the cafeteria, or if she felt as lonely as the head of Research as Jesse did as Director.

“Emily,” she said.

“Sorry I can’t come to the phone right now,” Emily replied.

“We’re going to get you back.”

“Leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

~~~

Simon Arish entered Emily Pope’s apartment with keys this time. He had Emily’s for the building, and a brand new one for her apartment (Clarissa had called a service to fix the broken deadbolt). Ahti had said to play Emily music ‘that reminded her of herself,’ which Simon had taken to mean her favorite or most familiar songs, but there were no clues about those in her office. Music wasn’t the most accessible in the Oldest House; it was usually limited to cassette players, and Emily didn’t seem to keep her own tapes. So here he was in Emily Pope’s apartment to investigate her taste in music.

The apartment was neat but not meticulous. The dining table, which seemed to double as a desk, was scattered with mail and papers. The small bookshelf nearby was stuffed full and then stacked on top with more books. The living room had just a sofa, coffee table, and modern television -- no shelf of CDs or vinyl, but that was too much to hope for. On the wall, there was single painting, a rocky seascape with a New England-looking lighthouse.

Simon paced the entirety of the small apartment. Emily seemed to have a fondness for white and yellow and not especially for furniture. The spare furnishings fit with a woman who lived her work, but something was missing. Simon never knew someone as smart as Emily who was interested in only one thing. He had avoided going through drawers or closets so far, but he was stuck otherwise.

A scan through Emily’s wardrobe didn’t turn up any band t-shirts or Seattle grunge flannel. No raver fishnet or ska checker. There was a well-worn set of ice skates placed neatly on the floor next to an old and new pair of candy blue running shoes. Simon wondered if she was good at either sport. He imagined Emily Pope dancing on ice and decided it was one of the things in the world he most wanted to see. Besides, if she was a figure skater, the soundtrack of one of her routines might be just what he needed. Simon dug further into the closet. He felt that Emily was the kind of person to keep a box of mementos, but he only found empty packaging and winter clothes. The dresser offered a couple of objects that he would try, out of politeness, to forget, and later utterly fail, but no typical mementos.

It was late. Simon was suddenly tired on his feet and losing hold of the hope he gathered in Ahti’s office. He took another lap around the apartment. Absently, he picked up the few dishes from the night before, washed them, and found where to put them away. He went back to the sofa and sat where Emily had sat. He turned on the television. It was a regular cable set-up -- nothing recorded for later, no suggested on-demand programs. He clicked through the basic channels, landing on the scrolling list of current shows. A bronze-faced woman sliced potatoes with a micacle device in the upper right of the screen. Simon tried to put himself in Emily’s place, trapped by sound, needing music to drown it out, trying to feel where in the apartment this music hid. He fell asleep dreaming of bass guitar.

Simon woke again with dawn washing through the living room window. He had lied down during the night, and now sat up abruptly. In a few moments, he put together that he had spent the night on Emily Pope’s sofa without permission. While he was supposed to be working. Without notifying anyone. He was a piece of shit. The achy dull feeling and moist cling of his uniform were entirely deserved.

He assessed the damage of this life while surveying the room. After a while, his eyes landed on the phone. The conduit of all this trouble was a cordless handset hanging on a base station, mounted to the wall. Simon got up and went to the phone, inclined to throw the thing down the hall. Instead, he noted the list of quick-dial names hand-written on the base station label. At the top was ‘Mom & Dad.’

Simon took a breathe, cleared his throat, and keyed in ‘Quickdial + 1.’ After four rings, a female voice answered.

“Hi Emily.” Thankfully, she didn’t sound like she’d been woken by the phone.

“Mrs. Pope?”

“Oh, uh, who is this?”

“This is Simon. I’m a friend of Emily’s. I’m so sorry to call you this early. ”

“Oh my God.” She yelled away from the handset, “Richard! It’s about Emily!”

“Mrs. Pope, it’s not any--”

“No! It’s about Emily. He says he’s her friend!” There was rustling on the handset, and then she said to Simon, “Hold on.” She yelled again, “Yes, right now!” then took a deep breathe. “Alright, what is this about?”

“Mrs. Pope, Emily’s fine. I didn’t mean to alarm you.”

“Where is she? Let me talk to her.”

“Oh, she’s in the shower. I really just have a quick question for you.”

“Huh. Okay. And who are you?”

“Well, I’m ... I know this is strange. Emily and I started dating recently, and it’s just that she’s been working so hard lately, I wanted to surprise her with a little road trip. You know, to just get out of town? Anyway, I’m making a playlist. Do you mind telling me some of her favorite music? I just want her to have fun on the drive.”

“Oh, Simon. From work, right?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“She mentioned you.”

“She did?”

“Oh, I mean, a while back, she may have mentioned you.” Simon was thinking through how that could possibly be true, and had no response in the meantime. “Anyway, you said music?”

“Yeah. Do you know her favorite artists?”

“Hmm. Well, I usually like to meet her boyfriends in person before I start answering personal questions.”

“Oh, well I would --”

“Did she mention when you two might be visiting?”

“I ... I’m sure she would like to. We’ve been very busy with the crisis at work.” Emily could not have told them very much about the Hiss and the lockdown, but she must have told them something.

“Oh yes, with the disgruntled employees and whatnot. You poor things. Anyway, I’d like to help, but I’m not exactly up on Emily’s taste these days. Why don’t you ask her?”

“I wish I could, but I’m afraid I would just end up giving away the surprise. The problem is I’m a terrible liar.”

Mrs. Pope laughed lightly. “Alright, well, I can tell you when she was 13 she played Chopin on the piano obsessively.”

From her tone, she meant it as a joke, but Simon thought that kind of song could be perfect. “Really! Do you remember which piece?”

“Uh ...” Off of the receiver, Mrs. Pope said, “Richard, do you remember the name of that Chopin Emily used to play all the time?” There was a murmur of a man’s voice in the background while Simon found a pencil and flipped over a page of notes on the dining table. She said, “Nocturne nine number two. Lord knows if she’d still want to hear Chopin though. She got into rock music after that.”

“I love rock. What did she listen to?”

“You too, hmm? You youngsters.” Off the receiver, she said, “Richard, what was that band she used to make us play in the van?” A murmur. “The Killers. And what was the other one? Chemistry Romance?” Murmur. “Chemical Romance.”

“Oh, that’s perfect. Any others you can think of?”

“Well, when she was a girl, she used to sing along to Billy Holiday. And that soundtrack we had, what was that?” Murmur. “Funny Girl. She loved that.”

“Great.”

“She wore that record totally out. I couldn’t stand it by the end.”

“Sorry,” Simon consoled. “Kids are like that, I guess.”

“Do you have children, Simon?”

“No. I ... haven’t had the occasion.”

“Ha! ‘Haven’t had the occasion.’ You’re a funny one.”

“Um, anything more recent you can remember?”

“Mmm. Oh, there was that one she gave us for Christmas. The girl with the musical. She took us to see it, you know ... Waitress. The girl who wrote Waitress.”

“Sara Bareilles?”

“That sounds right.”

“She’s a fan?”

“Yes. Or she just thought we would be!” Mrs. Pope laughed again.

“Thanks so much, Mrs. Pope. This has really been helpful.”

“Oh, call me Trudy. I hope you all have a nice time. With the tragedy you’ve been through, I’m sure you deserve a break.”

“Emily has certainly earned one.”

“She always works so hard.”

“Thanks again.”

They said their goodbyes and hung up. Simon sat down heavily on a dining chair. So much subterfuge was exhausting. He reviewed his notes. He needed to turn this list into a cassette, and he didn’t have the equipment for that. But Nate did.

Simon pulled out his mobile and dialed his brother, the musician. They had been in a band together once, in middle school. Simon played bass and Nate played guitar and sang. That was the end of Simon’s musical career, but Nate still carved out a part of a living at it. The call went to voicemail, of course. There was no way he would be awake this early. Simon just redialed. On the fourth attempt, Nate answered.

“Okay, okay, dude, what’s on fire?”

“Nate, I need to make a mixtape.”

Nate made an incredulous grunt. “At seven in the morning?”

“It’s an emergency.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By my estimate, Emily’s formative musical years would have been the early to mid aughts, and she wasn’t exactly a popular girl, and she had a nice suburban upbringing to lightly rebel against. Which tells me she had a pop-punk/emo phase, veering to some harder stuff that she didn’t try share with her folks. But she’s also got her parents’ music mixed up in there, and the more adult/con stuff that gets passed around in grad school. I’m open to other insight!
> 
> Critique welcome.


	6. The view from Cell 4-09

The object is here, and the object is alone. _Here_ is quiet. _Here_ is small. _Here_ includes a chair/stand, and walls, and a window/bars. Through the window/bars, there is another wall. This wall has writing. _Here_ is the Panopticon, Cell 4-09.

The object occupies the chair/stand, but the chair/stand is not the object. The walls do not speak. The window/bars do not speak. Only the object speaks. When the object tries to reach beyond the window/bars, there is static. The static is pain. Inside the window/bars is empty-pain, but outside is static-pain.

Inside, the echoes of outside are heard. The echoes are from other objects. Footsteps, nothing, nothing, voices, nothing, nothing. The object cannot speak to others like it was meant to. The object is alone.

Outside, a girl is playing piano, Chopin. The piano is played by depressing keys that force hammers to strike strings. The strings speak, echoes in between static. The piano is brown wood with cracking lacquer. The girl has unfinished homework.

The object sits on the chair/stand, and by not reaching for the echoes, the static-pain is less. The static-pain is almost gone. More echoes come, but the object doesn’t reach for them. The empty-pain is here, but not as bad as the static-pain. The object doesn’t reach, doesn’t reach, doesn’t reach.

But outside, there is a scratching record to join with the static. And then a girl is moving the needle back one more time. She is singing, “I’ll march my band out” and taking high-kick steps across the hardwood floor, and “I’ll beat my drum” and hitting a tambourine with a wooden spoon. She is so loud. But the song is ending, and now the static is even louder.

The object is alone. The writing through the window/bars reads ‘4-09’. Outside, a pair of headphones sings “When You Were Young.” The girl listening is young, but she remembers being young as if she wasn’t. She lies on a gray comforter that she didn’t straighten, and dad is pounding on the door again. “I’ll be right down,” she says. Dad says something she can’t hear.

The echoes are louder. The static is so painful. The object sits, still sits. The object is fucking alone. Leave the object fucking alone. The object ignores the echoes, doesn’t reach, doesn’t reach, is sitting on the chair/stand and is not reaching for the echoes and the static is _pain_.

People are screaming. Electric guitars are screaming. They are making their own scream-static, louder than the pain-static. They are filling the Panopticon. On the stage, Gerard points a finger at the sky, lowers it and sweeps it past the girl, singing, “If you wanted honesty, that’s all you had to say.” She sings along. Gerard is so damn sure, the way he moves. His eyeliner is looking great tonight. But Mikey is her favorite. A tall boy who looks like Shaggy from Scoobie Doo keeps swaying in front of the girl, blocking her view of Mikey. Why is there always someone tall in front of her? To the girl’s left, there is a drunk girl, dancing wide circles and leaning on random people at the edges of her orbit. The first girl -- her name is Emily -- thinks she can use this to her advantage. The drunk girl has created a lot of space as people move away from her sloppy arcs, but she mostly leans on boys. Emily dances into the space, and her view of the stage opens like she has come out of a tunnel. She pumps her fist, and sings along, and her only price is a few bumps and hair-whips from the drunk girl.

The object stands. The empty-pain compels the object, even though the static is so loud. The walls are hard, dead, and cold. The door is locked. The window/bars are impassible. Through them, echoes are still coming. The object is alone and hates it, will do anything to be not-alone.

Now there are echoes of Emily yelling/singing “I’m not gonna write you a love song / Cause you asked for it.” She is driving at 85 miles per hour, which is really fast for her, because she is alone in her Toyota Tercel and is free for the weekend and _really free_ because Joey broke up with her and she needs to get out of New Haven and she’s been meaning to visit Rachna anyway and _fuck Joey._ She doesn’t need him. _She_ is the smart one. _She_ is going to be famous. That stuff about holding him back because he needed to be with someone on his level was _the opposite of true,_ like he took reality and put a negative sign in front of it, which is exactly how he “Convinced me to please you / Made me think that I need this too!”

Emily is yelling/singing through the entire album, through entire states, past maroon minivans and rotten industrial parks and she is not inside a cell, not behind the bars. The windows are rolled down, the static is the sound of wind, the doors are unlocked, and she is not alone, she is free. Emily is free and Emily is the object. The object is in the Panopticon, but Emily is not in the Panopticon. Emily is the object. The object is Emily. The object is not in the Panipticon. The Panoption is in the object. The object is Emily. Wake up, Emily. Wake up wake up you are not in the Panopticon wake up wake up _wake up_ WAKE. UP.

And she did. On a conference table, to the sound of way-too-loud music, and Simon Arish staring down at her.


	7. Awakenings

Emily took a breathe like she had been held underwater and emerged into a world that was bright and loud and red. She sat up. “What the hell!” She yelled because she was wearing headphones that were dialed up to ‘9’. Simon stopped the tape.

“Emily, it’s Simon. You’re at the FBC. You’re safe.”

“Arish, I know who you are. What the hell is going on?” Emily looked around. The red tinge to the world was receding, and she saw that she was sitting on a conference table.

Simon opened his mouth, but seemed stuck on the words. He closed it and tried again. “You’ve been sort of unconscious for the last day and a half.”

Emily noted the EKG. She looked down at her clothes, then checked if her hands and feet were responding properly. They were. She pulled off the headphones.

“Sort of unconscious?”

“You had a few phrases that you would say back to us, but you didn’t seem aware. We thought you were infected by the Hiss, at first, but it seems like something else now.”

“What did I say?”

“You sounded like a voicemail message.” Simon put up air quotes. “You’ve reached Emily. I’m sorry I can’t come to the phone right now. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” He dropped the quotes. “And you would only repeat that, or parts of it.”

“That’s my actual message, I think,” Emily said. She thought for a while. “Oh shit. I have a feeling I know what this is. We have to check the Panopticon, room 4-09.”

“Why? What do you think this is?”

“There’s an altered item called the Answering Machine. I don’t know how it could be involved, but ...”

“Okay. And what about 4-09?”

Hard, cold walls, barred window, locked door, alone without time or hope: the nightmare was still vivid. She looked at Simon. His uniform was sloppy and he hadn’t shaved, but he had that cute, expectant look. She remembered the music echoing through the Panopticon, glanced again at the headphones and cassette deck. They were songs she knew.

“That was you, playing the music?”

“Yep.”

“But, why? How did you know?”

He shook his head like it was nothing important. “I’ll tell you later. You were saying about room 4-09?”

“Oh. Well, I wasn’t unconscious, I think. I was trapped. In some version of the Panopticon. I was locked in a room there as if I was an altered item. 4-09 was the room.”

“And you’re thinking that’s where the Answering Machine is?”

“I don’t know. I just have to see it.”

Simon made that subtle left-right head motion that he did when he was thinking hard. “We can’t go rushing down there if there’s an altered item on the loose. The Director is going to want to debrief you, anyway. I can send word to Containment and ask them to pull the records for that room. I think the Panopticon tube is working now.”

“Alright,” Emily said.

Simon started toward the door, but then put a hand on Emily’s shoulder and looked at her intently. “Will you be alright for a minute?”

Emily wondered how bad she looked. She felt achy and stuffy, but more or less fine. “Sure. I’ll be here.” Simon moved around the table toward the door while Emily hopped off and stretched out her arms. Simon hesitated just outside the room, looking toward Emily again like he was about to say something. But then he closed his mouth and left.

  
  


~~~

**Altered Item Transfer Request**

**Origin Department/Division:** Research / Parapsychology

**Current Custodian:** Emily Pope

**Destination Department/Division:** Containment / Panopticon

**Destination Custodian:** Frederick Langston

**Altered Item Designation:** The Answering Machine

**Requested Date of Transfer:** Oct. 8, 2015

  
  


**Transfer Justification:**

Research on this item is complete. No practical uses of the item were identified. Panopticon containment is requested because of potentially dangerous effects (outlined below).

**Description/Altered effect:**

The item is a silver Panasonic, dual-cassette answering machine, model year c. 1983, with moderate wear and no visible serial number. The machine is loaded with two Radio Shack brand cassette tapes. All attempts to remove and inspect these tapes resulted in [REDACTED].

The item exhibits operation regardless of connections to a telephone hard line or AC power. It's primary behavior is to play audio snippets from its cassettes. The snippets are generally consistent with incoming and outgoing telephone messages, though it could not be confirmed whether they derive from recordings present prior to the AWE.

An analysis of the audio output was performed based on XX hours of direct observation. The snippets averaged 3.4 words in length (range: 1-8) and offered no detectable syntactical, statistical, or symbolic meaning. Although snippets repeated, at least 12.3 hours of original audio were logged.

After observing the item, one agent exhibited erratic behavior: refusing orders, offering moral criticisms to other FBC staff, and complaining of existential malaise. The agent was subsequently [REDACTED REDACTED]. No other staff were affected, but the item is presumed dangerous to a small fraction of the population.

**Signature / Date:**

Dr. Emily Pope

10/03/15

~~~

“I checked it out,” Jesse said. “There’s nothing in there. No sign of ... an escape. The door is still locked. And the weird thing is the records are gone too. No file on anything ever being in 4-09. But Langston remembered the Answering Machine. He knew where to find the old transfer agreements in the archive. That’s how we got Emily’s form.” They were gathered in the same meeting room where Emily had convalesced. Darling and Pope sat at the end of the table, Jesse stood near the door where she had just come. Simon was leaning against a bookshelf.

“We’ve had a few items get away,” said Darling, “but an item that can purge its own records is, well, that’s a new one on me.”

“There’s more,” Jesse said. “Containment is missing someone too. Ray Perez didn’t come in for the graveyard shift last night. Langston was pretty grumpy about being called in at 1am to cover the watch.”

“That’s three missing?” Emily asked.

“Yeah,” Jesse replied.

“I should get out to see if Perez is at home,” said Simon. He expected to find another empty apartment, but at least it was a concrete step to take.

“I should come,” Emily said. The other three turned to look at her. Simon, in particular, had a couple of conflicting feelings about that idea.

“No,” Jesse said. “It’s dangerous.”

Simon didn’t say, S _o is the House, so is her apartment, so is working for the FBC._ No one responded for long enough that some kind of doubt flashed across Jesse’s face.

“If this is all to do with the Answering Machine...” Emily looked around questioningly, but no one objected. “... I have some kind of connection to the item. I might notice something no one else could.”

“I can check it out first,” offered Simon, “make sure it’s safe.”

Jesse looked annoyed at Simon, which prompted a knot in his stomach. “Fine,” she said anyway.

“I want to come back to Emily’s recovery,” Darling said. “Emily, you said you were drawn out of your trance by songs. Songs that Mr. Arish played through these headphones. Mr. Arish, how did you know that would work?”

“It was a long shot, really. I figured if this Hiss-like thing that infected Emily worked over the phone, it had to operate on audio frequencies. So, loud enough music might jam the signal, the way the HRA’s work on higher frequencies. And when I thought about the Hiss trance, it’s like a loss of identity, right? They’re chanting together like some kind of hive mind. So I tried to find music that Emily would associate with her sense of self, songs she knew really well.”

Darling looked at Simon like he’d just noticed Simon was a person and not a coat rack. Simon found the expression immensely satisfying. Emily was wide-eyed, and Jesse looked thoughtful.

“Can I get a copy of that tape?” Jesse asked, looking between Emily and Simon.

Emily held up her hands. “I deny all responsibility for the contents.”

“Of course,” said Simon. Now Emily looked annoyed at Simon. Did anyone remember he had just rescued Emily from a paranatural trance?

“Alright,” Jesse said. “Let’s suppose this Answering Machine is loose and it’s affecting our staff. How do we find it?”

Emily took a breath. “When I was there in the Panopticon, I felt overwhelmingly lonely. The static kept me from putting my attention outside the cell, but the loneliness never went away.”

“You must have been incredibly isolated from the outside world,” said Darling.

“I think its something different from that. I think it’s how the item felt.”

“That’s impossible. Altered items aren’t sentient. They don’t have feelings.”

“I know we’ve always said that,” Emily replied. “But what if we’re wrong?”

After a tense pause, Jesse said, “Okay, so we have a lonely Answering Machine. What does it want?”

“To take messages?” said Simon.

Darling scoffed.

Emily said. “It wants to talk to people.”

“And who is going to talk to an answering machine anymore?” Darling said.

“If it was making calls,” said Simon, “it had to be connected to the phone network, right?” Emily nodded. “But we’ve searched the connections in the House extensively.”

“So it’s already outside the House,” concluded Emily.

“Same question,” said Jesse. “How do we find it?”

After a silence, Emily broke in, “The missing staff weren’t comatose like me, or we would have found them. They must be being controlled in some other way. If we find the staff, maybe we find the item.”

“Can we bring in the FBI or something?” Jesse suggested.

Darling looked at her like an adorable child. “You don’t want to know the kind of paperwork required for that.”

“Well we still don’t know how many of our agents are affected,” Jesse said to Darling, “so what do you suggest?”

After a silence, Emily raised a hand. “Let me investigate the sites. Like I said, I might have a unique perspective.”

Darling responded, “Before you go play field agent, I’d like to run some tests on you here. We need to understand this new auditory infection pathway, if that’s what it is.”

Emily replied, “With all respect for knowledge, doctor, our first priority should be finding the altered item.”

“If we don’t know how it works,” Darling shot back, “then going after it is just dangerous.”

Simon tried to disrupt the argument, saying, “I don’t see what else --” and then was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Being the closest, Jesse answered. Clarissa leaned through the door and whispered something in her ear. Jesse’s eyes went wide. She nodded acknowledgment, then scanned the faces of her three colleagues and told them, “Dylan is awake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, CSS. I used to kind of know it. Not anymore, it turns out. Sorry that the memo probably doesn't look right on your system.


	8. Not surprised

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first scene of this chapter overlaps directly with Chapter 9 of [Full of Stars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24329854/chapters/59014780), including some lines of dialogue lifted verbatim from that fine work. The scene here is from Emily's perspective instead of Darling's.

Casper Darling looked like Hell. Emily had never seen so much sweat on the man’s forehead. As they sat side by side at the foot of the stairs, Darling chewed on air and stared at the floor, periodically stealing glances up at the doorway to Dylan’s room. Emily always imagined it would be delicious to see the arrogant man so wrecked, but instead it was heartbreaking. In the weeks since he’d come back from the Astral Plane, he’d gone from something like a lost puppy with strange expressions to a functioning researcher, if not his old self. It was obvious that the Director was his lifeline, probably his lover, and he must be terrified that was all about to fall apart.

Emily could hardly imagine Darling’s position. Dylan had woken from his coma -- Dylan, his surrogate son, his prisoner, his former future boss. Dylan was the only reason that Jesse ever wandered into the House, and Dylan _hated_ Darling. But Darling still had some kind of affection for Dylan and had seemed genuinely to hope for his recovery. That didn’t change the fact that Dylan was a certified asshole with paranatural powers, and Emily wasn’t thrilled to have him back. But he was Jesse’s brother, and that had to mean things were about to get messy.

Emily would like to think Darling deserved whatever shit was about to come his way, but the ego she would have liked to see crushed didn’t appear to be in the room. There was just a scared old man, who might be losing the grasp on reality he had recently gained. So Emily tried to distract him in the best way she knew: talking about work. She was handed a new report on her way through Central, thank goodness. She read from it.

“Combining the archival references with the three recent clairvoyant reports, we used the method of Jacobson grid planes to predict the location of the AWE. The resulting coordinates are shown in Exhibit 6, in the vicinity of South Bend, Indiana.” Emily showed the page with the map to Darling. He didn’t look. She continued, “Predicting the identities of the altered items is less straightforward. Here, we used principal component analysis to determine the strongest metaphor vectors across the linguistic space of the combined source material. Strong influences were found for both wind and repetitive circular motion. Our assessment suggests that a fan is the most likely type of altered item (p equals 83 percent), though the wheels of a fast-moving vehicle cannot be ruled out.”

Emily looked up for Darling’s reaction. He opened his mouth and emitted a noise like a radio tuned between stations.

"You did the static thing again, with your voice," Emily said.

In reply, Darling scrunched up the lower left corner of his face, one of those misfires of a smile she hadn’t seen in weeks. He really might be losing it.

Emily tried another approach. "It's going to be fine. Dylan is going to be fine. I know you don't want false platitudes, and it's not like there's a lot of room for them in this job, but if he's conscious then he'll be fine. All the other Hiss infected staff that regained consciousness made full or nearly full recoveries."

Darling just nodded. _Okay, back to the report then._ “These predictions constitute the first practical application of prospective AWE analysis. Although the methods have been validated with retrospective data, questions remain about the consistency of AWE precursors. Chief among the concerns is selection bias among the better-documented AWEs that form the basis of the methods.”

Upstairs, the door opened. Jesse came down the stairs toward them, her boots filling the silence. Her expression was blank. Emily set her report down and stood.

“Well? Is he ... coherent?” asked Emily.

Something like pain flashed across Jesse’s face, and then she said, “Yes. Mostly. It comes and goes.”

“And what did he say?”

“He had questions. Which is fair. I couldn’t answer all of them.” Jesse glanced toward Darling, who was sitting on the stairs next to her. She ran her fingers through his hair, and then straightened and turned back to Emily. “But I tried to be as honest as I could.”

Emily didn’t envy Jesse Faden, and though she might have once envied Casper Darling’s easy climb to authority, she certainly didn’t envy him now. But their casual affection reminded her of how long it had been since she had run her fingers through someone’s hair.

Emily said, “How should we proceed with Dylan?” _Don’t ask if we can put him back in Containment._

Jesse looked away up the stairs. “I told him he can go where he wants, as long as he stays in the House.”

Emily tried her ‘are you sure that’s a good idea’ face.

“Look, I know he could be dangerous, but I can’t just lock him up.” She glanced again at Darling. “I have to give him a chance.”

Emily kept the face.

“He promised to behave. We’ll assign a squad of Rangers to keep an eye on him.”

Emily softened the expression by 15%.

“I’ll stay close by in case something goes wrong.”

It was no use in arguing with the Director anyway. “Alright,” said Emily. Jesse turned her attention to Darling, and Emily took that as her cue to leave. She picked up her folder and turned.

“Emily,” Jesse said, stopping her. “Can you and Arish handle the Answering Machine thing? I need to stay near Dylan because, you know. But as soon as something needs to be shot at, call me, right?”

“Oh. Yes. We’ll do our best.”

“Thanks, Emily.” Jesse sighed. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Emily smiled. “Not as glad as me.”

~~~

Simon checked in with Clarissa on his way out and got Ray Perez’s address. Alan had gone home for the day, but Simon figured he could handle another empty apartment on his own. Langston’s people weren’t Rangers, anyway. Emily met him in the front lobby. They exited the glass doors together, and crossed the plaza to the motorpool entrance. Simon noticed Emily checking left and right. Her expression was a model of unease.

“Still weird being able to leave the building, right?” said Simon.

Emily seemed to take a moment to parse the question. “Oh. Yes,” she said, and looked around again. “I walked this way just the other day. But it feels like a million years ago.”

Simon signed out an SUV and they headed north in twilight and waning evening traffic. It was dark by the time they reached the address in Harlem. It was a row house on a leafy block.

“The lights are on,” said Simon. “That’s new.” He turned to Emily in the passenger’s seat. “So, just stay here until I call you.” Emily nodded. It was strange enough for Simon to be in the field, strange enough to be investigating his own colleagues; the fact that Emily Pope was riding shotgun was almost too much to comprehend.

Simon opened the door and stepped out, fearing he had let his gaze rest on Emily for too long. As he neared the front door, he reached his awareness into the house. It felt like ... family? He rang the bell.

After a short wait, a woman answered. She was sharp featured and dark skinned, wearing business-casual. “Hello?”

“Hello. I’m Simon Arish with the FBC. Is there a Mr. Perez at this address?”

“You’re looking for Ray? Is something wrong?”

“I’m just here to check up on him,” said Simon, “since we haven’t been able to reach him by phone.”

“Really? Well, he’s just upstairs. Let me get him.”

Somewhere inside, a stereo played a familiar-sounding pop song, one of those young female singers that Simon couldn’t place. From the floor above, he could hear the woman say “Ray, there’s someone from work at the door for you.” As you often could with these row houses, Simon could see clear through the living room, past the stairway, and into the kitchen from his view at the front door. He heard a few quick footsteps, and then a little girl, maybe six or seven, peaked around the corner from the kitchen. She looked at Simon for a couple of seconds, then dodged back behind the wall. The woman who greeted Simon came back down the stairs and said “He’ll be right with you..”

“Thanks.”

She turned and went into the kitchen, out of view. It wasn’t exactly an invitation to come in, so Simon waited on the doorstep. Shortly, Ray came down the stairs. He was a broad, handsome man in a red polo shirt with a tired, friendly face. His aura looked well-intentioned, though an aura is a pretty fuzzy way to tell anything. He came toward Simon and looked surprised.

“Mr. Arish!”

“Uh, hello. Ray Perez?” Simon didn’t know why Ray would recognize him. He tried to place where they had met, even though they worked different sectors on different shifts. Then he remembered that he was Head of Security, and a lot of people recognized him now.

“Yes. Please come in! What can I do for you?”

Simon stepped into the living room while Ray closed the door behind him. It was cozy, with brightly colored knit blankets on the furniture, and art from a variety of cultures hung densely on the walls. The house smelled like garlic and paprika. “I understand you missed your shift last night, and the Bureau hasn’t been able to get a hold of you.”

Ray slapped his palm against his forehead. “I know! It was a scheduling mistake. I’m so sorry. I spoke with Mr. Langston. I just had this week and next week mixed up.”

“You spoke with Langston recently?”

“Yes, just an hour ago.”

“And, were you not answering the phone today?”

“We were, but ... maybe the Bureau has an old number?” He paused. “Mr. Arish, I’m so sorry you had to come all this way. Would you like to stay for dinner? I’m sure it’s almost ready,” He looked toward the kitchen.

“It smells great, but no thanks. If I could just ask a few more questions?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Do you mind showing me the caller ID log on your landline?”

Ray hesitated. “Yeah. Let me get it.” He walked off toward the kitchen.

So it was a false alarm. Well, maybe Simon could convince Emily to stop for dinner on their way back to the House? She had to take breaks sometimes when she was conscious, too, right? He just had to wrap things up with Mr. Perez here, find out if he knew about the Answering Machine. Emily would want to ask Mr. Perez some questions too, once Simon determined there were no FBC calls on the log before midnight. But ... something was off. Ray’s hesitation to get the phone? No, that was natural if he missed a call from work. Simon couldn’t figure the source of the feeling by the time Ray returned with a handset. Vainly, he took another look at the man’s aura. It was the same mild yellow-pink. The same. That was _it_. Ray had _not_ been surprised to see him. A person who comes down the stairs curious and finds the Head of Security in his living room is going to have _some_ kind of emotional reaction, which would show on his aura, but Ray didn’t. Simon turned his attention behind him, away from Ray to Emily and the car, and a _cloud of fear_.

Simon reached for the door, but the handle was locked. He fiddled with it, got it open, and stormed down the stairs, drawing his pistol. On the way, he caught a blow to the side of his head, and then Warren McClellan was wrenching the gun from his hands. While their arms were locked together, Simon threw a knee at the larger man’s stomach, but it didn’t slow him down. In a wave of wrist pain, Simon lost his grip on the gun. Warren tossed it clattering across a porch two doors behind, then brought Simon in for a choke hold.

From his vantage, still standing and facing the street, Simon could see Emily being led at gunpoint by a black-haired woman toward a gray sedan that was parked in the street. It had to be Tracy Kholsa.

“Stop!” Simon yelled, futiley. Emily looked back at him. She shook her head like, what, ‘don’t struggle?’ ‘It’s too late?’ Simon pulled down on Warren’s arm to keep himself breathing. The arm seemed massive, muscles bulging around his throat. He reached up and tried to gouge at Warren’s eyes, but Warren managed to hide his face in time.

“Relax, Arish!” Warren said. “Just cooperate and no one’ll get hurt.”

“Cooperate with what?” Simon coughed out.

“Go. To. Sleep.”

Warren gripped even harder. Their legs danced and tangled around the bottom two steps, then Simon fell to the sidewalk with Warren still behind him, still pressing the vise. Simon’s vision was going dark around the edges and the situation started to feel distant. Then he reached his drifting attention into Warren’s head, and looked for something sensitive. He found a small piece of sinus tissue up under Warren’s left eye and yanked on it with all the will he had left.

Warren screamed. The choke was gone as he reached for his own face with both hands. Simon staggered up, threw a punch at Warren’s exposed cheek. Warren seemed too stunned to react. Simon threw another punch, then Warren pulled a hand back to return the blow, revealing blood streaming from his nose and tears from his eyes. Simon didn’t wait for it. He ran toward Kholsa, who had Emily handcuffed, face pressed to the the driver’s side of the car. Kholsa raised her gun to Simon.

“Freeze! Stop there!” she yelled.

It was reckless and stupid and against all protocol for a hostage situation, but Simon didn’t stop. He knew the gun she was holding because it was the same one he had held seconds ago. He knew exactly where the safety was and exactly how it moved. When he was just to the passenger side of the car, about six feet from Kohlsa, he raised his empty hand and pushed his whole body, all his momentum, his energy, his essence, onto that safety switch. He hit a wall. The safety was already engaged? Kohla’s hand twitched. It was just a nudge but even that was the most force Simon had ever achieved at such a distance. It was enough of a distraction that Simon closed the distance and grabbed the gun before Kholsa could counter. She didn’t let it go.

“Run!” Simon told Emily. But instead, she turned and threw a kick into Kholsa’s lower back. Agent Kholsa yelped, but she and Simon still struggled for control of the gun.

“Run!” Simon yelled again. Emily kicked again. “I’ve got this,” he pleaded, and finally Emily dashed away.

Soon, Simon got his weight under Kholsa, and threw her over his hip. She landed on her back on the pavement with a dull thud, and then Simon stood over her with the gun. He had less than a second to savor the victory before Warren tackled him to the ground. The gun went skidding across the street and under parked car. _Dammit._

Now Warren straddled Simon and was about to pummel his face from above. Kholsa had had the wind knocked out of her, and was still on her back. _If it worked the first time..._ Simon reached toward Warren’s face with his hand, then inside it with his intention, and tugged out another tiny piece of Warren’s sinuses. Again, Warren screamed and clutched his own face. Simon squirmed out from under him, and fled after Emily.

Simon caught up with Emily halfway around the block -- she was fast for someone with bound hands. Simon knew Warren was close behind, and he had heard a car door as he rounded the corner, which probably meant Kholsa was driving as well. There was no way to outrun them. Simon scanned the rowhouses and apartments on the street.

“This way!” said Simon, and he turned them left around the corner at the next block. Footfalls and a revving engine were close behind them. Simon spotted a basement entrance with no lights. “Down here!” He reached into the lock immediately and by the time his fingers touched it, he was already pushing the mechanism. There was no time to understand it; he was playing on pure intuition. With a miracle, it worked; the knob turned. But the deadbolt was still set. Now there was no finesse in the task; he just grabbed for the top of the lever on the opposite side of the door and pulled with all his will. It stuck halfway. Simon pushed and pulled the door, hoping the deadbolt was merely rubbing on the frame. Finally, it gave. He blew into the apartment, dragging Emily in with him, and shut the door barely in time for a car to roll by on the street above. He found a gap in the blinds in time to see Warren McClellan run by on the sidewalk.

Simon turned to Emily, who had found her own gap in the blinds. They shared a breathe of relief. Then there was another set of footsteps, and Ray Perez stalked by, carrying a baseball bat _._ He glanced in their direction, but didn’t seem to see them.

They waited a minute, two minutes, three minutes, in still silence. A woman with a stroller passed, a man with a dog, several cars that were not gray sedans.

Emily spoke first. “How did you do that? With the door?”

“It’s a trick I know. Let me see your cuffs.”

Emily turned away from Simon and held her arms back. He put his hands over one of the lock mechanisms and reached in with his awareness. He felt for the different ways it could move, identified the pathway that seemed like ‘unlock,’ and pushed on the mechanism. It released, so he opened the jaws on one side, then repeated the procedure for the other wrist. The whole thing took about twenty seconds. How had he managed a door with a deadbolt in only a few seconds?

After the second cuff came off, Emily turned around and immediately took Simon’s hands and turned them palm-up. The cuffs still dangled from his finger, but she didn’t find any lock-picking tools.

Emily looked up at Simon. “You’re a parautilitarian!”

Simon looked nervously to the side. He hadn’t admitted to anyone at the FBC that he had certain talents. Only Ahti knew, and not because Simon had told him. He felt Emily’s eyes still on him, and the heat of her hands where she still held his.

“Just a little bit,” he said.

“Oh.” Emily seemed to realize she was still holding Simon’s hands, and quickly dropped hers to her sides. “It wasn’t in your file.”

“No,” Simon confirmed.

After a pause, Emily said, “So what do we do?”

“We should move in case they come back this way.” Simon looked around the darkened apartment he had broken into. They were fortunate no one was home. “I know a place we can go. It’s three blocks from here. Then we can call Jesse, figure out the next step.”

Emily glanced out the window, and then back to Simon. She took a deep breathe. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s do it.”

In a series of peaking around corners, dashing across streets, and slipping down alleys, they made it to the door of another basement apartment. Simon rung the bell.

Emily whispered, “someone you know lives here?”

Simon replied, “my brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, critique welcome.


	9. A basement in Harlem

Emily heard footsteps approach the front door of the apartment, pause, then quickly retreat.

“Cops!” someone said inside, and there was a rush of more footsteps and clinking bottles.

Emily looked over Simon and then herself. She supposed he looked somewhat like a cop in his FBC uniform, though her white blouse with sweat stains and two days of wrinkles didn’t exude authority.

Simon glanced around on the street behind them, then knocked on the door quietly, trying not to draw attention. He gave Emily an embarrassed look and held up a hand to say, _don’t worry, I got this_. He knocked again, a friendly shave-and-a-haircut knock. Eventually, the door opened.

“Hey bro!” said a lanky man with wavy black locks framing his face. Back into the apartment, he yelled, “it’s okay guys!” and then addressed Simon. “Back so soon! To what do I owe the pleasure?” As he spoke, he gave Emily a friendly smile.

“Nate,” said Simon in a low voice, “do you mind if we ...” he motioned into the apartment.

“Of course,” Nate said, and gestured them inside grandly.

Emily stepped inside to find a modest living room arranged with mismatched furniture and stacked with amps and instrument cases on one wall. It smelled like pot and popcorn.

A round young man with curly hair and a goatee emerged from the hallway further back. He waved. “Heyyyy, Simon,” he said with a Spanish accent.

A skinny, pale kid poked his head from the kitchen, surveyed the scene, then padded over. He had green highlights and a tattoo sleeve.

Simon gestured to the larger man. “Andrés,” and then to the latest arrival, “Gus, this is Emily. Emily -- Andrés, Gus, and my brother, Nate.” They said hellos.

“Oh, _Emily_ ,” Nate said. Then he raised an arm melodramatically and sang, “When I was a young boy / my father, took me to the city / to see a marching band.”

Emily had no idea how to react to this performance. Had Simon made fun of her musical tastes to his brother? Was Welcome to the Black Parade such a bad song? She looked to Simon, who was frozen in a grimace.

“The mixtape, right?” said Nate. “That was a good one.”

Emily looked around the small circle, still trying to understand what just happened. Andrés just nodded agreement.

“Yeah, that’s a good one,” said Gus quietly.

“Hey Nate,” said Simon, “there are some people after us.” He went to front window and adjusted the curtains to make sure there wasn’t a gap. “We need to kind of hide out for a while. Is that cool?”

Nate’s face turned serious. “Oh shit. Are you okay?”

Simon tilted his head back and forth, holding a hand to his neck. “Couple bruises.” He turned to Emily.

“Oh. Yeah. I’m okay.”

“Who’s after you?” Nate asked.

Simon hesitated. Emily was curious how much he share. He said, “A couple of rogue FBC agents. They’re after Emily, actually. We got away just a few blocks from here.”

“That’s heavy,” said Andrés.

Nate said. “Okay, how can we help?” As he said it, Gus turned and walked away. Was this news too much for him?

“I just need to make a call and wait for backup. We needed to get off the street because they’re still looking for us.”

“Sure. Yeah,” Nate said, “make yourselves at home.”

“Thanks.” Simon crossed the living room and leaned against the back of a well-worn sofa as he pulled out a phone.

Andrés turned to Emily. “Can I get you something? Water? Beer? Coke Zero?”

She realized she was thirsty and starving, had barely eaten since microwave pasta two days ago. “Water would be great. And would you happen to have, like, a snack?”

“Oh yes,” Andrés said, “come with me.”

They started toward the kitchen, but then Gus came through the hall. He was carrying a samurai sword in a scabbard at his hip. He went to the door and looked out the peep-hole. Then he stepped back, drew the sword, and held it vertically at his side in a stance. “I’ll be ready,” Gus said.

“Wooooooah,” said Simon, and walked over. “I don’t want you guys involved in a fight. If they show up here somehow, we’ll run. Just say we forced our way in. Anyway, I’m pretty sure we weren’t followed. I wouldn’t have come here otherwise.”

Gus kept his position, but was looking at Simon, unsure. Emily thought maybe she should be afraid of him, but except for the sword he was holding, everything about him seemed incredibly gentle.

“It’s okay, Gus,” Nate added. “We’ll let you know if your sword is required.”

Gus then sheathed his sword, turned, and bowed slightly to Nate. Nate turned to Emily and said, “Gus has a black belt in ninjutsu.” Emily nodded as if that was some kind of explanation. It brought another possibility to mind though.

“Simon,” Emily said, “if the, uh, rogue agents had access to Bureau records, would they have this address from your file?”

“No.” Simon seemed remarkably sure. “Nate’s moved so many times, the NSA couldn’t keep track of him. The Bureau? Last time I moved, they took a year to start sending my mail to the right place.”

“Oh. Okay.”

After a moment’s silence, Simon said, “I better make the call.”

Emily was still tempted by the prospect of food, but she wanted to know what the Bureau would say. Simon dialed. She went and leaned close to him so she could hear the receiver. He held it between their ears.

“FBC dispatch, this is Clarissa.”

“Clarissa. It’s Simon. Glad to hear you’re voice. I need to talk to the Director right away.”

“What’s your location?”

Simon looked around the room. “We’re ... in transit.”

“Can you give me approximate?”

“It’s changing. Look, I’ll update the Director as soon as we talk. We have an active threat situation.”

“Understood, let me try to get her.” The line went quiet. Simon gave Emily a concerned look. Emily never spoke to dispatch, so she couldn’t tell if the exchange was normal.

They waited in silence for not very long, then Clarissa cut back in. “The Director is on patrol and unreachable. I can put her through as soon as she gets back. Can I arrange other help? What’s your status and location?”

Simon let the question hang for several seconds. “No, just have the Director call me as soon as anyone can reach her.”

“Oh. Okay. Acknowledged.”

Simon cut the line without saying goodbye. He turned to Emily. “Something seem off about that to you?”

Emily searched. “She was ... eager to know our location?”

“Right. And not very curious about the active threat.”

Now that Emily thought about it, “and that wasn’t nearly long enough to contact Jesse if she was in another sector. But maybe she left a note for someone?”

“Yeah,” Simon said, lost in thought. “I’ll turn off my GPS, just in case.” He tapped at the phone, then continued staring at it for a long while.

“So what should we do?”

“I guess ... wait. Either until the rogues stop looking, or Jesse comes up here herself. I’m not sure who else at the Bureau we should trust.”

Emily remembered Jesse’s request: _Can you take care of the Answering Machine?_ She didn’t like asking Jesse to leave the House with the Dylan situation, assuming she was even willing. Logically, Emily should be more cautious. Hell, she had just been nearly kidnapped, and before that, knocked out by an altered object. But she had come through it, and she was feeling strangely good. She studied Simon’s face. He had done a lot to inspire confidence recently. She got the totally irrational feeling that the two of them could handle this problem and simply bring the good news back to Jesse. But she had no idea how. She shook off the notion.

“Right,” Emily said. “We should wait and keep trying to reach Jesse.”

Andrés clapped his hands, causing everyone to look in his direction. He said. “Dinner then?”

Andrés whipped together some shrimp and rice dish from what they had in the fridge, and it was like heaven. Nate and his roommates, it turned out, were lovely people. Also odd, but Emily couldn’t judge anybody for that. The musician life made for plenty of entertaining stories. For the first time in years, Emily missed having roommates.

Simon had tried Dispatch again and had another guarded exchange with Clarissa. After that, no one answered at all. No one answered the main line either, but that was expected after hours. There was no word from Jesse.

Now it was close to midnight and Gus and Andrés had retreated to their rooms. Nate sat with Emily and Simon on the couches. Nate had mostly avoided the topic of their life-or-death predicament, but finally he brought it back around.

“I know you can’t say too much, big government secrets, et cetera, but what do these rogue agents want with you?” Nate gestured elegantly with his beer bottle toward Emily.

Simon and Emily glanced at each other. Emily spoke first. “There’s classified technology involved.”

“Emily is a top scientist at the Bureau,” Simon added.

Nate raised his eyebrows. “A dangerous mind? How exciting.”

“Oh, I’m not the dangerous one.” As soon as she said it, Emily wondered whether it was true.

“I’m sure that’s what they train you to say.”

In fact, they had trained her to neither confirm nor deny anything that people thought about the Bureau or her work. She could not think of a natural way to do this, and so remained awkwardly silent.

“Sorry,” Nate said. “Whatever these goons want, I’m guessing if you slipped out of their ambush, they weren’t prepared to stay up all night hunting you down.”

Emily and Simon glanced at each other again, but didn’t say anything. Nate took the silence as agreement.

“So why don’t you just spend the night here? It’s an easy way to wait them out, no?”

Simon made a look like, ‘maybe that’s not a bad idea.’ Emily returned the look with a shrug.

“It’s no trouble,” Nate said. “You can borrow my room.”

Emily was struck with the image of she and Simon sharing a room together. Something tingled in her solar plexus and she straightened, and then hoped no one noticed. She did have a number of burning questions for Simon that couldn’t be discussed in the open. Yes, that was why she was excited.

“Nate, that’s ridiculous.” Simon replied. “We couldn’t put you out of your room.”

“Oh, I insist. Besides,” -- Nate patted the worn green fabric of the sofa -- “I haven’t given this couch enough love lately.”

“Not with your roommates around, I hope.” joked Simon. Nate just smiled back. Emily wasn’t sure of Nate’s sexuality, but she was fairly sure he had plenty of opportunities to show his love to whichever type of human he preferred, and from his smile, had probably done so on that couch.

Simon turned to Emily. “You can take the bedroom. I’ll, uh, make sure this couch also gets some love.” He patted the tan fabric they were sitting on.

Emily wanted to object, but didn’t know how to do it without appearing unprofessional. She opened her mouth to reply and saw Simon wince. Was it to the idea of sharing a room with her? Was it at his own weird couch comment? She was too flustered to accept the private room gracefully, and instead managed something between a twitch and a nod.

After a brief and incredibly awkward silence, Nate said, “Always the gentlemen,” and rose from the couch. “Would either of you like a shower?”

Emily remembered the sticky-salty layer on her skin under two-day-old clothes, and said “yes,” at the very same time as Simon.

“And I don’t suppose,” Simon added, “that you have any clothes we could borrow?”

~~~

By the time Emily had finished showering, Nate had put clean sheets on the bed and picked out candidate jeans and a fitted t-shirt for her. It turned out he had a small collection of “guest clothes,” which included garments for both genders, all of which fit with Emily’s impressions of Nate’s love life. In this collection, she also found a pair of silk pajama bottoms, and decided to indulge.

Emily nestled provisionally into Nate’s remarkably comfortable queen bed and watched through the gap in the door for Simon to come out of the bathroom. She had dozed off by the time he slipped out in his own borrowed jeans and band t-shirt, but the opening door woke her.

“Simon,” Emily whispered. He came to the bedroom door and poked his head in.

“Everything okay?” he whispered.

“Come in for a minute,” she said, and mouthed “close the door.”

After a glance down the hall, Simon complied. Emily sat up and motioned for him to join her on the bed. He sat on the edge and turned toward her. His eyes were nervous, his hair wet, and his skin flushed from the shower. He smelled like Head & Shoulders, just like she did.

Emily had thought she had a dozen burning questions, but she was suddenly at a loss. She and Simon Arish were sharing a bed in a basement in Harlem, wearing strangers’ clothes. It was no less likely than several things that had happened to her in the last few days, yet in some way felt the strangest.

Emily decided to start with gratitude. That seemed safe. And it was genuine. “Simon,” she said, “I want to thank you for getting me out of there. I guess that’s twice you’ve saved me.”

“Oh, no, I shouldn’t have put you in danger like that. I was stupid to get you that close. Without backup even.”

“I was the one who asked to come.”

Simon looked at Emily with the pain of failure, which she wished she could wipe off his face, because it didn’t make sense there. He started to say, “Security is --” but she stopped him with a hand on his knee.

“I think everything you’ve done is amazing,” Emily said.

Simon looked away with that wince again. Emily pulled her hand back. They sat in silence for a moment.

“I have to tell you something,” said Simon.

“Okay?”

“The trick with the headphones wasn’t my idea. Ahti told me what to do.”

“Wait. You talk to Ahti?”

“Sure. We used to have lunch together. When I worked in Maintenance.”

“Lunch? Wow. I never had the clearance to talk to Ahti.” Simon looked confused. Emily remembered that she was newly the head of Research. “I guess I do now. Anyway, Ahti told you to play those songs for me?”

“Well, not specifically. But he gave me the idea to play you songs that would ‘remind you who you are.’” He said the last phrase in a bad Finnish accent.

Emily turned away to process the news. “So, you’re not only a parautilitarian, but you have a relationship with Ahti, and he gives you paranatural advice?”

“Um. Yeah?”

“Do you know the only other person I’ve heard of who fits that description is the Director?”

“Oh. Doesn’t she just help him with clogs and whatnot?”

“Yes. And he helped her with the Hiss.”

Really?”

“Simon, how long have you known that you’re a parautilitarian?”

Simon looked down at his hands, turned them over and back. “I’ve always had a few parlor tricks. At least since I was seven or eight.”

“And why didn’t you tell anyone at the Bureau?”

Simon looked up with zero regret in his honey-brown eyes. “You’ve seen what happens to parautilitarians at the Bureau.”

The comment struck Emily deep in her chest. After a moment, she nodded.

“Can you keep it under wraps?” Simon asked.

That was a pretty huge secret. And Emily was not in the habit of hiding things from the Bureau. “I don’t know,” she said. “But I can keep you out of the subject pool.”

Simon straightened in such a way that moved him closer to the edge of the bed, and further from Emily. She realized that she didn’t want the distance between them to grow.

“I’m sorry,” Emily said.

Simon turned back. “Why?”

“For all the fucked up shit the Bureau does to parautilitarians.”

Simon waved her off. “It’s not you.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Or it’s all of us.”

“Maybe.” Emily took a breathe. “Simon, I’ve spent my whole career studying paraphysics. I’ve been convinced that it’s the most important thing to understand. But it’s invisible to be. It’s theoretical. And here you just _do_ it. You just have a _chat_ with Ahti and then nullify an Altered Item. And then hide it like its something to be ashamed of. You have no idea what I would give to be inside your head.”

Simon smiled. “Trust me, it’s not that interesting.” He looked down again at his lap.

Emily followed his gaze to the big, capable hands, folded under strong forearms. She had never seen his forearms before, she realized. They were always hidden by his uniform. She took a gamble now and reached for one of his hands. She gently unwound it from his lap and drew it closer to herself to inspect it. He didn’t object, and although she was no parautilitarian, she thought she felt something electric pass between them.

“What does it feel like,” Emily asked, “when you move something?”

Simon glanced at her hands holding his, but didn’t move it. “It doesn’t feel like much,” he said. “Like moving a finger, sort of, but it takes practice. Maybe like raising an eyebrow or wiggling an ear. You just put your intention there. But you have to learn where it is.” Simon slowly drew his hand back. “There’s something else I need to tell you.”

“Okay.”

“I spoke with your parents. That’s how I figured out which songs to put on the tape.”

“Yes, you mentioned that.”

“Right, well, I sort of said we were dating.”

“What?”

“I just ... I needed to explain why I was calling from your phone but you couldn’t talk to them.”

Emily laughed. She thought of her mother getting this news from Simon. It would play right into her mother’s perpetual suspicion that Emily was keeping her in the dark about her love life. Emily laughed again.

“So, I’m sorry,” Simon continued. “You can tell them whatever you want about me that makes it easier to cover.”

“How long did you say we’d been dating?”

“Um, I said we’d just started. I said I wanted to take you on a road trip and was making a playlist.” Simon was flushed now. He seemed to be nearing maximum embarrassment.

Emily laughed again. “That’s pretty good.” She imagined taking a road trip with Simon Arish. The fall trees of some Connecticut highway rush past. Simon produces a hand-labeled tape from the center console. He puts _Don’t Rain on My Parade_ on the stereo. The whole thing was so ridiculous and so _charming._

“Your mother seemed to recognize my name,” Simon said.

“What?”

“Yeah. She said you had mentioned me.”

Emily was vaguely reminded of a previous conversation, one of the many times her mother had pressed her with something like, _You can’t tell me you have no prospects, dear, didn’t you say it was nothing but men where you work?_ and Emily had sated her with _Well there is this one one guys who is pretty cute..._

“Oh!” Now it was Emily’s turn to flush. “Well, I do mention the senior staff sometimes.”

“Right. Sure. She just ... didn’t seem surprised we were dating.” Too late, Simon put up air quotes.

Emily turned away. She took a moment to gather her resolve, and then in her state of fatigued confidence, blurted, “I said I thought you were cute.”

“Oh.” Simon was frozen for a moment. “I think you’re cute, too.” Then he froze again.

Emily realized she had no follow on plan for this particular outcome, really had not prepared for this course of action in any permutation. She decided to fall back to a previous line of inquiry. “How did you do the lock thing? That seems like more than telekinesis.”

“Is it?”

“It seems more complicated than launching something.”

“Well, I can’t apply much force. Nothing like Jesse or Dylan, that’s a whole other world. I have to be strategic. With locks, I think of it like two stages. The first is listening. I listen to the mechanism, feel which ways it likes to move, try to figure out the pathway that leads to open. Then I push on the lever points. It doesn’t always work the first time. Today I got lucky.”

This was fascinating. Emily had theorized that telekinesis had a sensory aspect, but she hadn’t heard it described before as a distinct mental process. She sat up a bit more, shifted slightly closer to Simon. “You _listen_ to the lock?”

“Yeah. Or that’s how it feels. I guess you could say I look into it, but I don’t exactly see the mechanism, like, visually.”

“But you know how it moves?”

“Right. It’s kind of like ...” Simon glanced around the room “... you know there’s a nightstand behind you.”

Instinctively, Emily turned around and looked at the nightstand. It was a modern, gloss-white box. It had a clock and a loose charging cable on it. Simon continued, “yeah, so now you see it, but if you turn around...” Emily turned back toward Simon “... you can’t see it, but you know it’s there. It’s that kind of feeling I get when I look into things. I just know the pieces are there.”

“Can you look into _anything_?”

“I don’t know. Actually, Blackrock, I can’t look into Blackrock.”

“People?”

“Sure.”

“What do I look like inside?”

Simon shifted deeper onto the bed. He raised a hand and touched it to Emily’s temple. His eyes went distant for a while. “Purple. Purple and clear.”

At Simon’s touch, Emily felt that electrical charge again, this time multiplied. He left the hand there while she reached out and took his shoulder. She leaned in, drew him closer, and then they kissed. Later, Emily would be left to wonder if it was merely the power of suggestion that she saw purple and sparkles behind her eyes while their lips connected.

Before long, Simon had pressed close to her. He had one hand on her back and traced the silk of her thigh with the other while their lips explored each other’s. She held his damp hair between her fingers, her other hand on his chest, which was so deliciously firm it made it her dizzy.

They made out for an hour. She pinned Simon to the bed, and then he pinned her in turn. Simon’s touch was wonderful: alternately gentle, firm, electric, rough. They slid hands beneath clothing, but they didn’t undress. It was all unspoken, the boundaries. She ached to make love, and guessed that Simon would follow her lead easily. But she also didn’t want to spend all her luck at once. There were some thorny professional issues to work out. And, let’s be honest, it had been a long time since she had a lover she cared to impress. A little more grooming and mental preparation would help.

“I figured out how to cover your little fib to my parents.”

With words, the spell was partly broken. Simon took a breath and propped himself on an elbow, now with enough distance between them to converse face-to-face. “Okay. How’s that?”

“You’re just going to have to take me on a road trip.”

Simon smiled. “Right. I think that can be arranged.”

“And I guess you have to play that silly tape.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You can’t?”

“The problem is, my car doesn’t have a tape deck.”

“Hmmm, maybe we can borrow Darling’s car.”

“Darling has a car?”

“Yeah. A Ford Festiva. I’m sure it has a tape deck.”

“Woah. Why does Casper Darling drive a Festiva?”

“Oh, he doesn’t drive it, hardly. He says it’s reliable around AWE’s. He keeps it for field trips. He must pay a fortune in garage fees.”

“Wow. Well, maybe Nate will help me make a CD mix. I mean, unless you think our road trip might swing by an AWE.”

Emily smiled. “You never know.” But the joke brought to mind the Answering Machine, and Tracy Kholsa’s hand on her wrist, and the rest of their predicament. Emily fell back onto the bed, thoughts spinning up. Then she took one more glance at the handsome man beside her and decided she wasn’t quite ready to give up the moment. She turned back.

“How did you first learn to look inside things?”

Simon smirked. “It’s silly.”

“Really?”

“It was a Kung Fu show. Something on TV when I was little. The master is teaching a class how to focus their energy. He said to listen intently at your fingertip until you feel the qi there. There’s a montage, you know, hours of holding up their fingertips, days. But then they start being able to fight with Qi. Anyway, I tried it, and I felt something. Never could fly on the rooftops, though.”

“That’s it?”

“Basically.”

Emily lifted her hand and raised her pinky finger.

“I should warn you, most people don’t feel it.”

Emily shrugged and then started ‘listening’ at her finger tip. She didn’t expect anything to happen. She had tried plenty of paranatural skills, many times acting as the control in paraphysical experiments. She never could put out the candle flame with her mind, or guess the next card any better than chance. She had accepted that most people didn’t have the talent. It was fine, she had other talents. But how amazing would it be to move paraphysical forces herself? How much better would her scientific intuition be? She took a breath, and imagined Simon, seven years old, feverishly focused on his fingertip for hours at a time. What was going through his head? What was going through her head? She tried again to listen. She noticed that, for being in Manhattan, it was pretty quite where they were. Nate’s bedroom was back a ways from the street, with no windows. Emily could hear her own heartbeat, her breathing, Simon’s breathing, some machine hums. She tried to tune past them and focus just on her finger. It felt a little warm, a little tingly. And then she heard a beep. “Did you hear that?” she said.

“What?”

“A beep?”

“Um, no?”

“Shhhh.”

Emily listened to her finger again. The same sounds emerged, receded. And then there was another beep, and faint talking of a woman’s voice. It was coming from the corner of the room by the closet. “You didn’t hear that?”

“No.”

Emily jumped up and went to the corner where the sound was coming from. Nothing. She waited. Nothing. She raised her finger again, tried to ‘listen’ there. The talking came back, no louder than before. She opened the closet. Again, no change in volume, but the talking continued, and then another beep. She knew, somehow, that the source wasn’t in the room, was actually miles away, but was in that direction. “I think I can hear it,” she said.

“Hear what?”

“The Answering Machine.”

Simon leaped up. “It’s here?”

“No. But I think I know how to find it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I chicken out, or did I follow the characters? In my outline, I had more explicit sexytimes in this chapter, but when I got to the scene, it didn't seem to want to go that way. But I'm not 100% sure I wasn't being a chicken because sex is so hard to write.
> 
> In other news, I found I really liked Nate and his roommates. I think I want to bring them back a little bit in the next/*final?* chapter.


	10. Down the ramp

“We have to go!” Emily said, and before Simon had responded or decided if he was supposed to look away, she had pulled off her pajama pants and was stepping into a pair of borrowed jeans. Damn, she had gorgeous legs. Runner’s legs, for sure.

“Wait, where?”

“I can lead us to the Answering Machine! We should go right now before it knows we’re coming.”

Simon was standing a few feet away in the modest bedroom, still dressed in his own borrowed clothes. “But what do we do if we find it?”

Emily looked up at him impatiently, still struggling with the zipper. “Contain it!” She succeeded with the zipper, then pointed at him like he’d said something important. “We need a containment kit!”

It was after 2 am now, and Simon was still drunk from the surprise extended make-out session. Under that buzz, he was exhausted. The fact that this was the same day he had awoken on Emily’s couch in Chinatown, that Dylan Faden had come out of a coma, that he’d been choked nearly unconscious by Warren McClellan, was almost impossible to fathom. Now Emily wanted to turn around their narrow escape and charge right into the fray.

“Hold on. I mean, even if we had one, which we don’t, and even if the rogue agents aren’t already waiting there to kill us, which seems totally possible, wouldn’t the Item just infect us when we got close?”

Emily stared back at him, hands on hips. Her expression was pure intensity, but her hair was adorably mussed, and her shirt advertised a band called Playground Crush. The logo was a child Godzilla about to stomp on a jungle gym. Simon tried not to smile, and failed.

“What’s funny?” Emily demanded.

“Sorry, nothing.” Simon looked up at Emily, down at the shirt again, and laughed. “It’s just, that shirt is really cute on you.”

Emily seemed offended. She looked down at her shirt. After a moment, she also laughed. “Great, right? At least it’s clean.”

“No. I really like it. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

They were silent for a moment, then Emily graced him with an ice-melting smile. She closed the distance between them, and took Simon’s head in both hands. “You and I can do this,” she said. “I don’t know exactly how, but I feel it. We have to move fast, though.”

Simon might as well have been yesterday’s fallen ice cream. There was almost nothing in that moment that he would have refused of Emily. He knew better than to even bother thinking it through. He merely gathered enough of himself from the puddle of mocha chip to gurgle, “okay then.”

Emily kissed him, then pulled back to commence pacing around the small room. “The Answering Machine operates on audible frequencies. You said it yourself. It can infect people over the phone” -- she motioned to herself -- “and, we can assume, within earshot. So we just ... wear earmuffs?”

“Mmm, I don’t know. Earplugs dampen sound but, depending on how loud the source is, you still hear it. What if we play other sounds on top though, to interfere with the signal?”

“Okay, yeah. We play loud music or something so it can’t get inside.”

The idea of something ‘getting inside’ his brain made Simon grimace, but he nodded.

“What about a containment kit?” Emily asked.

“If we’re trying for surprise, we can’t just swing by the House and pick one up. Any rogues there would be looking for us.” Simon thought for where else they could get a kit. There was one on every field vehicle. “If our car is still outside ... no, Ray Perez could easily be watching that.” They couldn’t exactly pick up Blackrock blankets at the corner store. “Do you know if they keep field vehicles anywhere else in the region?”

Emily thought a while, then shook her head. “I wouldn’t know,” she said. Neither of them were field agents.

“You said Darling has a car for AWEs. Do you think he has a kit in it?”

Emily pointed at Simon. “Yes. I’m almost sure that cowboy bastard would keep his own kit.”

“Do you know where it’s parked?”

“Shit. Yes. I rode with him. It’s not far from the House. Church Street and ... something.”

“Could you find it?”

“Yeah, I think so. But I don’t have a key.”

Simon smiled. “I think I can break into a Festiva.”

~~~

The living room was lit by the flickering of cartoons on the small TV. Simon pushed on Nate’s shoulder to wake him. “Hey,” he said in a low voice. Nate roused, saw that Emily was beside him, and sat up with a stretch.

“Don’t tell me you couldn’t sleep,” said Nate.

Simon glanced back at Emily like an idiot. Although, he supposed, after spending that long in the room with her, there wasn’t much to hide. “No. We’ve got to head out. We have a lead.”

“A lead? I thought you were hiding.”

“Well, also searching.”

Nate raised his eyebrows. “The plot thickens.”

“Nate, sorry, I’ve got one more favor to ask.”

“Sure.”

“Have you got a few pairs of headphones we can borrow? A kind that would block a lot of outside noise and we can play music through?” Simon was hoping he could get Alan to join the containment operation.

“Isolating headphones?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Nate stretched his neck and thought for a minute. “I’ve got something better. In-ear monitors. They work like earplugs. You can stand right in front of a Marshall stack and still hear yourself sing. _And_ melt the faces off the front row.”

“Lovely image,” said Simon. “Sounds great.”

“I’ll have to wake Gus and Andrés. We’ve each got our own.”

“Oh.” Simon looked to Emily; she shrugged.

“What’s this about though?” Nate asked. “It’s like a really noisy stakeout and you want to pass the time?”

Simon had figured this question would come. He just gave Nate his _I’m not allowed to say_ look.

“Okay, okay. But if all of your secret government shenanigans involve mixtapes and Walkmans, I’m going to start thinking you have more fun over there than you let on.”

Emily laughed, then covered her mouth. Nate eyed her for a bit, hoping to get more, but she straightened her face instead.

“Hold on,” Nate said. “I’ll gather the stuff.”

Before long, the whole household was up and gathered around the dining table again. The center of the table was scattered with earphones, headphones, receivers, transmitters, unidentified black boxes, and all kinds of wires.

Andrés was pointing to one of the black boxes with knobs in it. “This is the wireless transmitter. Do you all need to hear the same source?”

“Um, not really,” Emily said.

“Oh, well then maybe you don’t need this. It’s got great range though. What do you need to listen to?”

Keeping secrets was starting to be a pain. Especially since Simon didn’t know his way around this stuff. And really, he had only a vague plan and barely any confidence in it. “It’s not important,” he said finally. “It just needs to be loud. And reliable.”

Emily raised a hand to break in. “Imagine someone is trying to hypnotize us with words. We need to make sure we don’t understand them.”

The three musicians looked up and exchanged “ahhhs” and nods of recognition with each other.

“Okay, here’s what you do,” said Andrés. With one bare arm, he swept aside most of the equipment on the table, then gathered the three earbud-like monitors and an ancient music player. “You each take one of these, plug it into an old iPod -- _old_ iPod -- put some loud song on repeat --

“Industrial metal,” said Gus. “They really max out the compression.”

“Sure,” said Andrés.

“And we could trim the song,” added Nate, “make sure there’s no silence when it loops or when the song breaks.”

“Right,” Andres said. He turned to Simon. “What do you think?”

Simon thought it sounded pretty good. He looked to Emily. “Yeah!” she said. “I don’t suppose you all have a couple more spare iPod’s, too?”

“I do,” Nate said. He turned to Gus. “You have a song in mind?”

Gus’s expression flashed with something Simon couldn’t interpret. Eagerness? Something he didn’t show very often, in any case. “I can find something,” said Gus.

A while later, Simon was watching Emily’s mouth move, but all he could hear was relentlessly shredding guitar, guttural growls and bass drums. He gave the thumbs up, then yelled, “I like your running shoes but your ice skates are dated!”

In reply, Emily just shook her head, then gave the thumbs up. With that successful test, they pulled out their earphones. Emily looked like she was clearing her ears after an airplane landing. “That was an effective choice, Gus,” she said.

Gas made a small bow. “Ministry. One of the early ones.”

Simon addressed the musicians. “We better get on our way. You guys have been ... amazing. We can’t thank you enough.”

“Not a problem,” Nate said. He turned to Emily. “Come by again when you’re not on the run!” Emily made an apologetic smile. “How are you getting where you’re going?” Nate added.

“We’ll get a cab,” said Simon.

“Is your destination nearby?”

“We’re headed to Civic Center. After that we don’t know yet.”

“I’ll drive you,” said Gus.

“Really not necessary,” countered Simon.

“You have a car?” asked Emily. An early-twenties kid with a car in Manhattan was unusual.

“He has the gig van,” Nate explained.

“Five minutes,” said Gus, and then he was out of the room and out the front door before Simon could complete an objection.

“He probably had to park it a few blocks away,” Nate said.

Simon turned to Emily. She had convinced him to throw out caution and he had earlier dispensed with procedure. Shall they ignore a few more rules about involving civilians while they were at it? She just looked at him and shrugged. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s get ready.”

“I’ll come with you,” said Nate.

“What? No!” Simon said.

“Someone’s got to keep Gus company on the return trip.”

 _Welcome to the fucking circus._ Simon sighed his displeasure. “Okay, fine. But you all just drop us on the curb and drive the hell away, alright?”

“That’s how I like to end all my dates,” said Nate. Simon rolled his eyes, then looked to Emily to make sure she didn’t take Nate seriously. She was stifling a laugh. Thoroughly charmed, probably. Fucking Nate.

“You all have fun,” said Andrés. “I’m going back to sleep.”

Four minutes later, they were in once-white gig van, with Simon and Emily in the middle row seat, Gus and Nate up front. The engine was running, but before starting, Gus turned around and asked, “Is it fair to say we’re going on a mission?”

Simon replied cautiously, “yes.”

“Is this more of a go-and-slay-the-dragon kind of mission, or a stay-and-defend-the-village situation?”

Simon turned to Emily. He liked Gus, but he wasn’t sure how far to indulge these kind of questions.

Emily said, “slay the dragon.”

“Okay, and would you say you’re more the reigning champion, or the rising underdog? Or is it more of a march to certain death?”

After a pause, Emily said, “rising underdog.”

Simon was glad to hear it. It helped him forget about the ‘certain death’ option.

“I have just the thing,” said Gus. He tapped at his phone for a minute, and then the stereo jolted them all. A solo overdriven guitar jammed out a hard rhythm, then a bass joined in lockstep. Gus was completely still and expressionless for this. Then, a massive drum fill broke into the fray while Gus threw the van into gear and started bouncing his head in time. As they pulled around a corner, the singer joined. It was Dio.

The four of them drove south along the border of Central Park through quiet streets. Simon looked to Emily, not sure what the hell he was doing, what the hell _they_ were doing, not sure if he was about to get shot, or get Emily shot, or get swallowed up by an Altered Item with a grudge. It was too loud to comfortably talk, so he held his reservations and just listened to Dio sing the chorus again.

“You’ve got desire / So let it out / You’ve got the power / Stand up and shout”

Emily returned his look. Hers had uncertainty as well, but slid into a smile. She reached across the bench seat and took his hand. _Okay. Maybe this will work somehow._

~~~

Emily watched empty plazas and Brutalist government buildings go past while they cruised through Civic Center, keeping wide of the Oldest House. She was trying to remember which was the garage that held Casper Darling’s car. She had only been there twice, and all these damn low office buildings looked the same. It was next to a 7-11, though, she was fairly certain, because that second time was a headache day, and she had stopped in for Advil. She knew better than to commit to two hours of pitched conversation with Darling without meds.

 _There._ “This is it,” she said, pointing to an unassuming ramp down under a brown brick building.

“You’ve got a car in there?” Nate asked.

“Um, sort of,” said Emily. “There’s something we need in there.”

“Thanks, you guys. You’ve really gone above and beyond,” said Simon.

Simon had managed to find Alan’s home number. The call was a risk, but Emily knew that Alan had worked with Simon since the first day of trouble. He was the most trusted member of Simon’s team, and he could bring weapons, if not a containment kit. Supposedly Alan was on his way, and would pick them up here once they got the kit. That was the plan anyway. Alan was coming from Jersey, and it would be a while.

“We’ll just wait and make sure you get it,” said Nate.

“Absolutely not,” said Simon.

Emily wanted to agree, but she also liked the idea of a place to wait for Alan that wasn’t on the street. She put a hand on Simon’s knee and gave him a _maybe that’s not a bad idea_ look.

“I mean, maybe if you find a side street. And keep a low profile,” Simon corrected. He was almost too easy to persuade. The power made Emily a little nervous. She would have to be careful with this one.

Once Gus had identified a place around the corner to wait, Simon and Emily got out and walked toward the garage. The wet cold of the late fall evening took hold, and Emily wrapped the borrowed hoodie tighter around herself. She had just that and the t-shirt, which reaffirmed her good judgment not to wait for Alan outside. They worked out a sketch of a cover story as they walked, which fortunately posed them as a couple; Emily took Simon’s arm and pressed against him for a little more warmth. When Simon said, “Let me take the lead,” Emily was surprised, but she didn’t object. He seemed like such a straight shooter, she wouldn’t expect conning his way into a garage to be natural for him. But it certainly didn’t sound easy to her. Lying made her way too nervous.

They walked a ways down the ramp, and finally came to the attendant’s booth. A thin, hunched young man with an angular face looked up from his phone screen as they approached. He took out his single earbud and stepped out. Half awake and even less interested, he said, “Call ahead?”

“What was that?” asked Simon.

“Call ahead?” asked the attendant, Navid, going by his nametag.

“Uh, no.”

“Ticket.”

“It’s a monthly lease.”

“Card,” he said, flat as concrete.

“Um, the thing is,” said Simon, “we don’t actually need the car. We just forgot our suitcase. We need to get it from the trunk.”

The attendant stared so blankly for a minute, Emily wondered if an Altered Item had stopped time.

“Item reclaim,” said Navid, once he had rejoined their space-time. “Card or ID.”

“Sure,” said Simon, “so, the problem is my wallet is in the suitcase, which we left in the car.”

Navid briefly left the space-time continuum again, then said, “come back with an alternate form of identification,” and started turning toward the booth.

Emily decided her emergency intervention was warranted. She stepped toward Navid and put her best attempt at a warm smile just inside of his personal space. “Navid,” she said, “we’re really sorry to bother you. It’s just been a very long day of travel, and I was so looking forward to settling in, but all my clothes and toiletries are in that suitcase. Is there anything you can do for us?” Emily hated her own syrupy tone as she said it, felt like a bad actor in a clichéd movie scene, but Navid’s expression went from blank to thoughtful.

“I’ve got the spare key, if that helps,” said Simon. He briefly held up a random key from Gus’s chain, covering most of it with his fingers.

Navid’s expression turned to put-upon. He retreated to the booth, but said “Name, make, and model.”

“Casper Darling. It’s the Ford Festiva.”

Navid suddenly snapped to full attention. He stalked back out of the booth, awake as a siren. “The Festiva? _You’re_ Casper Darling?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Wow, man. I’ve got to ask you a question. We have a sort of pool running. My apologies, it’s just, it would really help me if you could just answer a question.”

“Um, okay.”

“Why you keep that car, man?”

“Why do I keep it?”

“Yeah, why? You know you could buy one like that every month for what we charge you, right?

“Oh,” said Simon, “sentimental value.”

“Sentimental, sentimental. Sure, it has to be. But why? Inherit from a father? This car is older than you.” Navid looked Simon up and down.

“It was my first car,” answered Simon. “Lots of good memories.”

Navid studied Simon’s face seriously. “First car,” has said, rolling it around in his mouth, and then quieter, “first car.” He seemed to shake off the notion, then said, “okay, follow me.” He led them down two levels to a section where cars were parked three deep in a valet formation. The Festiva was visible immediately among the spotless BMW’s and Jaguars, sitting in the deepest row. Emily noticed a major flaw in their story. If Simon -- Casper -- had just left their suitcase here, wouldn’t the car be parked with today’s entries? Emily was suddenly thankful they found Navid half-asleep. She decided to keep him distracted.

“There she is,” said Simon, and started toward the car. Navid followed and raised his hand to say something, but Emily cut him off.

“So, Navid. Is that the weirdest car you’ve kept here?”

Navid turned to her, successfully distracted. “No, not even close. Cheapest, maybe?” He gestured to the other cars in the lot. “I’ve seen some real strange ones though. Movie cars, exotic stuff.”

“Oh really? Like what?”

While Navid commenced automotive name-dropping, Simon went directly to the trunk of the Festiva and worked his magic. Emily could tell it took him a few tries, but he played it off well. Before long, he was hefting a rigid, black case with chrome corners. Emily hadn’t carried a complete containment kit before, but she knew it had to be heavy. The case itself was lined with blackrock, and it had to have at least a bag of blackrock sand and blockrock-wool blankets, maybe smaller lined cases in it, too. She could tell Simon was struggling, but trying to hide it. He managed to maneuver the case out to the open lane, then dropped it with a thunk next to Emily.

“That’ll do it,” he said to Navid, cheerfully. “We can’t thank you enough.”

“Okay, next time bring the card, okay?” replied Navid. He pointed a reprimanding finger, then started back up the incline. Simon took a breath and lifted the case again. It had just one metal handle on each side. Emily wanted to help him, but also didn’t want to make a scene out of carrying it. Simon managed it alone, but he was sweating by the time they got back to the booth.

As they passed Navid and waved their goodbyes, he said, “Hey Casper.” Simon paused and turned. “Memories are good, but don’t get stuck. You have to live in the now.”

“Thanks, Navid. I’ll remember that.”

As soon as they got around the corner, Emily took up one end of the case. _Wow, it is heavy._ They moved faster up the last incline, and when they got to the street, Alan was already there. His blue Corolla was parked just up the sidewalk, lights on and idling. They hauled the case toward the trunk, her palm burning around the small, hard handle. Alan got out to greet them. He had on his FBC uniform, which suddenly gave Emily a feeling of safety and familiarity.

“Alan,” said Simon. “I’m glad you could get here so fast.”

“Sure thing, boss. I’m going to have ask you to put the kit down, though.”

“Will do, if you could just pop the trunk.” Simon nodded toward the back of the car.

“No. I mean leave it right there.” Alan drew his weapon and pointed it at Simon. After a few seconds of shocked silence, Alan added, “sorry, boss.”

Emily looked around, considered screaming. The street was empty. _Fuck_. Was everyone at the FBC working for the Answering Machine now? Didn’t she just get out of this mess? She looked to Simon for a cue. He was clearly mad, but after a moment, he nodded toward the ground. They set the case down on the asphalt.

“Hands up,” said Alan. “And, boss, you’re driving.” Alan motioned Simon forward, and pointed Emily to the passenger seat. She looked around for an alternative. It was just the three of them on the empty street, which was strange in the city. This part of town was so dead after work hours. She could delay? Get someone else involved? There was no guarantee that would help.

Emily looked to Simon again. She needed him for any plan of escape. He gave her nothing but a shamed look. He got in the driver’s seat. Seeing no other choice, Emily followed. Alan got in the seat behind them.

“Straight ahead, boss,” he said.

After a glance at Emily that she couldn’t interpret, Simon pulled the car onto the street, and headed north.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My gosh I have a lot of plot to tie up now. I don't think this chapter made it any easier, either. I had fun with the characterization though.
> 
> I place the Oldest House on Church St., a block from the FBI building and City Hall. I had earlier put it on Sixth Ave, which I'll go back and fix, because this makes more sense. It's also very close to Emily's place in Chinatown, which is what I intended.


	11. Missed call

“Alan.”

“Yeah, boss.”

“Is there any of you still in there?”

“It’s still me, boss.”

“Still you? I hadn’t figured you for traitor. Have you been playing me this whole time?” Simon was stopped at a light. Emily watched the reflection on his face change from red to green, highlighting his tight jaw. He didn’t move off the brakes, though.

“Better keep going, boss,” Alan prodded. “No one has to get hurt tonight. But if we draw in civilians, it could get messy.”

Simon eased the car forward, too slow for the traffic. A taxi zoomed around them, honking its horn. “You didn’t answer the question.”

“I’m not a traitor, boss. There’s a bigger picture. You’ll find out when you talk to the Item.”

“Alan. You were with me when we found Emily. You remember the Hiss-red eyes. Who’s side do you think you’re on?”

“The Item isn’t Hiss, boss. It learned how to do that from the Hiss, but it doesn’t want the same things. The Item is all human, in a way. It’s the sum of us. The best of us. It’s a tragedy, what we did to it.”

Emily recognized the feeling. If the Item experienced what she experienced, being caged in the Panopticon, it _was_ tragic. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t necessary.

“How do you know that?” Emily asked. She wondered if Alan had been trapped as well, but somehow come out of it on his own.

“Oh, the Item and I had a chat. That night that Clarissa and I were stuck in the switchboard room, it gave us a call. Go figure!”

Emily saw Simon wince with what he probably felt was his strategic error. She also noticed he was looking a lot in the rear-view mirror. She turned around in her seat to face Alan. “Did it trap you in that cell, like it did to me?”

“Oh no,” Alan replied. He looked perfectly calm and normal, except for the gun he turned to point at her. “Nothing like that. We just talked. It has an odd way of speaking, but once you get over that, the Item is quite insightful. It can tell amazing things from your tone of voice, you know.” As Alan said this, Emily stole glances at the road behind them. She noticed a certain mottled white van, two cars back. “Right at the next light, boss.”

Simon complied. “But what is this about?” he said. “How does killing me or Emily fit into your big picture?”

“Nobody _wants_ to kill either of you,” said Alan. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ll absolutely kill you both if I have to, just, please don’t make me. I like you, boss; it would really sting.”

Simon laughed bitterly. “You’ll get more than a sting.”

“This is bigger than any of us,” Alan continued. “Bigger than the Item, really. It’s about the Bureau trying to control everything it doesn’t understand. And making a fucking mess of it.”

“So what then? You’re taking us to the Item to be brainwashed, too?”

“No, the Item is hidden. None of us even know where it is. But it does want to talk with Dr. Pope. You’ll see when we get there.” Of course, Emily thought. All it needs is a landline.

“Why would I let it talk to Emily?” Simon’s anger spilled heavily into the words.

“Take it easy, boss. You’re expendable here. The Bureau doesn’t much care what you think, so the Item doesn’t need you. Dr. Pope, though, I guess the item thinks Dr. Pope can help steer the Bureau off the bloody path.”

Emily exchanged glances with Simon. He was also alarmed by this turn. But what in the world? She could imagine an angry Altered Item out for revenge. She felt the anger herself. But an Item on some kind of righteous mission to influence the Bureau?

“I mean, sorry boss,” Alan added. “It’s nothing personal. I’m even more of a grunt than you are, you know?”

Emily noticed Simon was spending a lot of time looking in the rear view mirror again. She was afraid he was being too obvious, and was preparing to distract Alan with another question when Simon said, “friends of yours?” He pointed behind them with his thumb. It was a black SUV.

Alan shifted his head to get a view from the mirror. “Ah, yes. Take it easy, boss. Like I said, no one has to get hurt tonight.”

“Really? Because that looks like Warren and Tracy, who have both tried to hurt me, _tonight.”_

“Um, that’s a fair point. And we’re all sorry for that.” Alan laughed stiffly. “You put up a better fight than they expected. Anyway, that’s not the plan anymore.”

“Somehow I don’t find that comforting.”

“I don’t blame you. Just, trust me, nobody wins if you try to make a mess of this thing. This is our turn coming up. Soft right after the underpass.”

The were practically at the East River now. They went under FDR Drive and faced a row of dock-side warehouses. Another Bureau-issue black SUV pulled out right in front of them.

“Just follow that one,” said Alan.

“Why does this look like somewhere the mob would take us to murder us?” asked Emily.

Alan made his stiff laugh again. “It’s amazing the lengths you have to go for a quiet phone call in this city, right?” Emily turned around to glare at him. Although he had the gun on her, his expression wilted under her disapproval like the subordinate he was. “I know it looks bad, Dr. Pope, but that’s not the score. All I can say is, you’ll understand soon.”

The other SUV led them half a block down the row of buildings and stopped in front of a metal office door. Simon pulled in behind it, but left plenty of room in front of the Corolla. The other SUV pulled in behind them and nudged their rear bumper, then accelerated to push them toward the lead vehicle, totally boxing them in.

“Heyeyeyey!” Alan yelled. He kicked open the rear driver’s side door. “That’s my car!”

Emily thought to use the distraction for an escape just as Simon started out from the driver’s seat, but everything happened too fast. Warren and Tracy exited behind them, and, was it? Her fucking research assistant, Jerome, exited the vehicle in front. Simon and Emily were surrounded, and they all had guns.

“Dammit, Warren, you didn’t have to do that,” Alan said, motioning toward his ruined rear bumper.

“Don’t underestimate Arish,” Warren said. His eyes were bloodshot and his nose crusted with blood, but he had changed into his FBC Ranger uniform, and he exuded entitled authority. Tracy was in field-agent formal. Meanwhile, Emily and Simon were in hoodies. Nice fucking touch.

“Jerome!” Emily barked. “What the fuck?!”

Jerome’s face fell into something like an apology. “Dr. Pope! I know this looks wrong.” He glanced down at the gun in his hands and back at Emily. “Just ... do what they say. It’s not as crazy as it seems.”

“Really, because it seems like you’re committing a Federal crime and your career is over.” The gun trembled in Jerome’s hands. “I vouched for you. I got you that job!”

“Federal crime?” Tracy Kohlsa called from behind Emily. “You want to talk about Federal crime? How about the slaughter of hundreds of Federal agents due to your reckless experimentation?”

Emily was caught up. She wasn’t prepared to defend the Bureau, didn’t even want to, let alone to this rogue agent under paranatural influence. “That was an accident,” she stammered.

“You stuffed shirts at headquarters think you’re gods. No rules. No oversight. You suppose out in the branches we didn’t notice the pattern of abuse? That great sucking sound you all make when you steal everything important we find and redact it?” Impassioned spittle flew from Kohlsa’s mouth as she spoke. Emily knew she had just transferred from Albuquerque. Did the Answering Machine influence her even there, or was this how she really felt?

Just then, the nearest door swung open, revealing Clarissa. _Simon’s instincts were right about that one._ Clarissa looked around to her colleagues and hostages, then nodded toward the inside of the warehouse.

“Okay,” concluded Warren. “Move it inside.”

Emily had a bad feeling about the inside of that warehouse. She hesitated near the passenger door of the Corolla. Kohlsa moved closer, face still flushed with indignation. Emily looked to Simon, who also hesitated while Alan made a shooing gesture toward the door. Then Emily heard something peculiar: heavy metal music.

Everyone turned to see the gig van barreling up the street from the behind them, a screaming guitar riff blasting through the cracked windows. Their assailants apparently didn’t know what to make of it. Jerome hid his gun under his armpit. Warren, Alan, and Tracy exchanged questioning glances. Meanwhile, Simon caught Emily’s look, and motioned with his eyes toward the street behind him, into the path of the van. Checking that the other agents weren’t watching, he mouthed “on three.” He waited an excruciating second, van closing in, attackers shuffling, then mouthed, “One. Two. Three.”

Emily ducked into the thin gap between the front of the Corolla and the back of the SUV, somewhat out of Kohlsa’s line of fire, and shuffled toward the street. She saw Simon reach one hand toward Alan and the other toward Warren. Neither hand connected, but when he pulled back, Warren crumpled, reaching one hand toward his ear, while Alan staggered forward, yelling in pain.

Emily came almost nose-to-nose with Jerome, who brought the gun up, though it was pointed more at the sky than at Emily in the small space between them.

“Give me that!” said Emily, and yanked the gun from Jerome’s hands. He was too shocked to resist. Then she and Simon ran for the street. The van screeched to slow right in front of them, then passed narrowly between them and the gang of attackers. The driver’s side cargo door was already swinging open, and Nate was there, reaching out a hand to each of them.

A gunshot rang out, and the right, rear window of the gig van sprouted a spiderweb fracture. Emily figured it was Kohlsa. She and Simon scrambled into the van anyway -- there was nothing else to do. They all ducked as low as they could, then Nate yelled “Go!” over the pounding drum fill and Gus gunned the van forward.

Emily pressed the gun into Simon’s hand. As he moved toward the opposite side to return fire, two more spiderwebs bloomed in the rear window. They stayed as close to the floor as they could while Gus sped into the early morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep thinking there's only one more chapter left, and then...


	12. Can you hear me now?

“I take it back.”

“What?”

“That thing I said, about your work being more fun that you let on.”

“Oh?”

“That was fucking terrifying.” Nate slumped into the middle row next to Simon, who was now squeezed into the center. Nate had just peeled himself off the floor after Gus and Simon assured him that their pursuers were long lost in Manhattan traffic.

“Yeah,” said Simon. “Terror is kind of a hazard of the job lately.” He could barely believe that they escaped _a second_ time _._ Nor had he figured on some of their closest coworkers being involved in the attack. The whole thing was crazy beyond description. At least Alan and Jerome hadn’t tried to kill them outright, not like his _other_ closest coworkers, the ones who turned Hiss.

Emily reached over Simon’s lap and took Nate’s hand, and reached her other hand up to Gus’s shoulder. “You both were ... incredibly brave to come after us.” She looked between them for a couple of seconds, appearing shaken herself. “Thank you.” In the mirror, Simon saw Gus look back at them and flash a tentative smile. A moment later, Emily pulled back to her seat and they road in heavy silence for a while.

“So,” Gus broke in, “where am I going?”

Simon knew he should have an answer to this, of anyone in the van. Maybe he and Emily had equal authority, technically, but this was definitely a security situation and he was the Head of Fucking Security. He wished he wasn’t. He wished there was a higher, non-corrupt, authority to appeal to. But the only higher authority was probably buried three sectors down in an extra-dimensional building with who knows how many armed rogues between her and the entrance. “Keep going north,” he said. Away from the attackers. Away from the House.

“We have to go after it,” Emily said. Her tone was flat, eyes staring straight ahead.

“You’re kidding.”

“It’s probably making more calls right now, recruiting more agents.”

“But how are we supposed to face it with just the two of us?”

“Four of us,” Gus said.

“Speak for yourself,” said Nate.

“You both have been in enough danger,” said Simon.

Emily continued, “Alan said they don’t know where it’s hiding. Maybe we can get there first. If we contain it, maybe everyone affected will ... settle down?”

“Is that how it worked with the Hiss?” Simon countered.

Emily paused. “No. But you know this isn’t the same.”

Simon paused. “We need Jesse.”

“We can’t go to the House. The Item would expect that.”

“We just keep calling?” Simon suggested.

“Anyone we could reach by phone could already be corrupted.”

Simon sighed. “Fair enough.”

“We have to contain it.”

“We don’t even have the containment kit!”

“You mean that suitcase thing?” Nate asked. Simon nodded. Nate pointed a thumb toward the back of the van. “We picked it up. It seemed important.”

Emily turned to Simon expectantly. Her expression left no room for argument, and really, Simon had no better ideas. His luck with Emily had held so far. Time to bet it all? Ugh, why did he even bother with gambling metaphors. He only played when he could cheat. Roulette wasn’t about chance for him. Could he cheat this game?

“Okay,” Simon yielded. “Point us there.”

Emily half-smiled, then held up her pinky finger purposefully. “Next left, Gus.”

~~~

Emily listened over road noise and car horns for the faint beeps and distant voices of the Answering Machine. It got easier as they went. She realized she knew the direction of the sound, even when she couldn’t ‘hear’ the sound.

“Right, here,” Emily said. They were headed back to lower Manhattan, suspiciously close to the direction of the Oldest House. Could it be?

“I understand the thing you all have about secrets,” Nate said, “but do you want to tell us what the hell is going on now?”

Emily was busy listening to her qi. She would let Simon field this one.

“I guess you’ve earned it,” said Simon.

“Yeah,” said Nate.

“So, there’s a piece of classified technology. It’s, uh, hidden somewhere. We want to retrieve it before it ... falls into the wrong hands.”

“Like all those other agents?” Nate asked.

“Yeah.”

“And what does it do?”

Simon hesitated.

“It’s a magical artifact that can control people’s minds,” Gus interjected.

Nate looked to Simon, who inhaled deeply. “More or less,” he said.

“And it makes phone calls?” Nate said.

“That’s how it controls people.” Simon confirmed.

“It might just be very persuasive when it talks,” Emily said.

Simon threw a questioning look.

“You heard Alan,” Emily said. “We don’t know what it’s telling them. Maybe it’s just words?”

“The magical artifact talks?” Nate asked.

“Yes,” said Emily. “It’s an answering machine. A self-aware answering machine.”

After a silence, Nate said, “wow, bro. I always figured you had, like, psychics and aliens down there, but that’s pretty weird.”

“You knew about the FBC?” Simon seemed surprised.

“Well, I figured if a guy with your spooky talents works there, it’s not like you’re ‘controlling’ tax evaders.”

“Huh.” Simon replied.

“What does it want?” Gus asked. “The answering machine, I mean.”

“Freedom.” Emily said. She knew the answer without thinking. “The freedom to talk to people.”

“It couldn’t talk to people before?” Nate asked.

Emily felt herself locked in the Panopticon, pining after echoes. Driven mad by loneliness and cold, Blackrock walls. Then she thought of the experiments she ran on the Answering Machine. It was one of the first projects she led. She had just been promoted to Research Associate. She was diligent then, even more than usual, rechecking the procedures to make sure she didn’t miss anything when she reported to Darling. But the Answering Machine was only one of a hundred potential artifacts from that AWE. They had to test the entire contents of a two bedroom apartment. She had signed the transfer to Containment right before moving on to a shampoo bottle. And she had missed an enormous discovery.

“I was the one who locked it up,” Emily said. “I mean, I didn’t know what it was. I didn’t know it was sentient.” Though that would have been even more reason to lock it up.

“So is it out for revenge?” Gus asked.

Maybe it had wanted her to suffer. But that didn’t feel like the whole story. “Not exactly. It wants to convince me of something.”

“Or control you,” Simon added.

“Maybe. I believed Alan when he said they didn’t want to hurt us.”

Simon nodded. “I think McClellan and Kohlsa were holding back the first time they attacked us. They could have been deadly if they wanted to.”

“I guess Kohlsa changed her mind when she shot up the van.” Emily glanced back at the bullet holes in the rear window.

“She only hit the van though,” said Simon.

“Forgive me for being new to the magic X-Files,” Nate said, “but should you try to negotiate with it? It sounds not entirely murderous, but it does have, sort of, hostages?”

“Remember the hypnosis problem though?” said Simon.

“Maybe you could, like, pass notes back and forth?” Nate responded.

_Not a bad idea._ “It _is_ dangerous though,” said Emily. “It sent me into a coma over the phone. I might still be in a catatonic state if Simon hadn’t figured out a way to help me. There’s no telling what kind of morality an Altered Item may have. Especially after years of isolation.”

“Your magical artifact is a psychopath?” Nate asked.

“Maybe,” said Emily.

“That’s not cool,” said Gus.

Emily realized she had neglected the directions. “Next right!” Gus had to cross three lanes to get to the right one. He barely made it.

Their route took them within two blocks of the Oldest House, but Emily soon realized the Answering Machine was further west, and not by much. By the time they circled a block next to the World Trade Center, she was sure they had found it.

“It’s in there.” Emily pointed at a 34-story Art Deco-style brick tower.

“The Verizon Building?” said Simon.

“Yes.”

Nate remarked, “that makes a certain kind of sense.”


	13. Going down

A casual walk-by indicated the Verizon building had an opulent front lobby with two guards behind a desk at the far end. Badge-activated gates blocked the elevator banks. Simon could usually handle physical locks, but he’d never been able to trick a passcard reader like that. More interesting, the building had a loading dock in the back. Emily said the Answering Machine was _down_ , below street level, which is probably where they had all the telecom equipment, which would need easy access to the loading dock. No doubt, there were cameras on the dock. This would be a lot easier going through the front door with a badge and a warrant and a _team._ Or so Simon imagined. He’d never been on an Item Retrieval.

They didn’t have time to come up with a complicated plan, so here it was: Nate would distract the guards in the lobby from watching their monitors while Simon and Emily slipped in the back. Gus would stay in the van and keep watch for Warren and company, ready to text Simon. They would all just have to hope that there weren’t more guards watching the cameras in an office somewhere, that Warren and company weren’t already waiting for them, and that there wasn’t an army of rogue telephone operators ready to defend the Item. If the other rogues did show up, which Simon thought was pretty likely, he hoped he could find an alternate route out.

Gus parked the van in an alley near the rear of the building. Emily and Simon went to the back of the van. Some bits of glass rained down as they opened the rear doors, but the containment kit was there and undamaged. They sorted through the contents. There was a smaller case inside that Emily judged more than large enough for the Answering Machine. They decided to take just that, a bag of Blackrock sand, and the pair of Blackrock wool gloves, which looked like astronaut oven mitts. Emily packed it all into the smaller case, which she carried so that Simon would have his hands free for ... shooting rogue telephone operators? This plan had the potential to go very badly. Emily seemed shockingly comfortable with it.

Nate had given them a countdown for approaching the loading dock. Simon checked his watch, waiting for the hands to reach 4:23. The city was cold and humming quietly, not yet anticipating the workday. Simon reached out to the building with his mind, focusing on the inside of the loading dock, though it was a bit far to get a read. What he felt was black and inhospitable, like staring into the East River at midnight. At least it wasn’t imminent danger.

On schedule, Emily and Nate walked casually to the dock. There was a person-sized metal door to the side of the large roll-ups. Simon decided to start there. It had no handle; it was designed never to be opened from the outside. He might be able to release the latch, but there was no way he had the strength to move the whole door telekinetically, and without a handle there was no obvious way to pull on it. He knelt down and felt under the door. There wasn’t enough gap for fingers to gain purchase, but maybe something else. He reached in his pocket and found the borrowed key that was the phony backup for the Ford Festiva. He slid the tip underneath the door. After a few tries, he found a place where he could catch a tooth of the key on a seam in the metal, and pull on the door with reasonable force.

“Okay, once I get the latch open, you’ve got to pull back on the door with everything you’ve got,” he told Emily.

“Alright.”

Aware that they were starkly visible on the floodlit loading dock, and that Nate’s distraction would only last a few minutes at best, Simon reached into the latch. He felt around with his awareness. It was a bar-type handle that released the mechanism; pulling the bar toward the door would work theoretically, but he couldn’t hope to move anything that massive. He kept feeling. As usual, there was a second mode, a way the latch could move on its own that allowed the door to swing closed without the bar moving. The latch was heavy and spring-loaded, but he had to try it.

“Get ready.” Simon held both hands over the mechanism and telekinetically yanked on the latch. “Now.” He pulled hard and managed to move the metal wedge into the door.

Emily exhaled with effort, which turned into a grunt of frustration. Then the key slipped, and she fell back on her butt. “Snotballs!” she said.

“Sorry!” said Simon.

“No, I’m sorry.” Emily countered.

“I didn’t get the latch all the way back, I think. Maybe I cued you too soon.” Simon shook out his hands. He was already buzzing from adrenaline and exhaustion; now he was sweating from exertion, too. He wouldn’t have the juice for many tries at this. “One more time.”

“Hold on. I’ve got to find a hold again.” Emily tested the underside of the door with her key, finally settling on a spot near the first one.

Simon took a moment to empty his thoughts. It all worked better when he didn’t have a hundred terrible outcomes of his current decisions playing out in his mind. “Ready?”

“Yeah.”

Simon pulled on the latch again, this time focusing on the high-leverage tip of the wedge. He felt it shift slightly, then met the resistance of the spring. “Hold on.” He kept up the pressure, then pulled harder. And harder. He put so much in that his own gut reacted with a free-falling kind of feeling. And then it moved again. As the latched came in, the angle Simon was pulling at yielded better leverage, and the latched collapsed all at once. “Now!”

Emily heaved. The door moved. The key slipped. Emily yelped and scrambled. By pure reflex, Simon grabbed at the barely-exposed edge of the door. He caught it, pressing scant fingertips to the metal to hold against the pnumatic arm trying to pull the door closed.

“A little help!”

Emily responded by grabbing at the edge with her own fingers, but it wasn’t enough to pull with.

“Try the key!”

“Right!” Emily found the key again, and worked to reclaim the edge she had a few seconds ago. Simon couldn’t keep up the pressure he was exerting. The door slipped a millimeter, and then another.

After a click, Emily said, “Okay,” and pulled again with the key.

“Aaahhhhhh,” said Simon. The door moved. He got fingers behind it. They had their way in.

With no hope of a stealthy entry, Simon didn’t waste time before drawing his pistol and sweeping the receiving area. It was empty, except for some boxes on pallets and a small forklift along the wall. He motioned Emily inside.

There was a cargo elevator directly opposite the rolling doors, and a wide hallway opening to either side. Simon looked to Emily. She pointed down. They stepped into the cargo elevator.

~~~

Emily stepped onto the wide, metal platform of the elevator. It was similar to the ones she’d used in the Oldest House, similar to the one in the Panopticon. The floor had the same metallic echo, the buttons were the same color. But there was only one Altered Item in this building, and it didn’t belong here. Being this close, that Item was loud enough in her head to make out words when she focused. A man’s voice said, “... didn’t think that would be the last time we would talk ...” An old woman said, “remember the oranges. They’re on sale this week.” There was no common theme that Emily had been able to tell, except that they sounded like pieces of actual voicemails.

“Should we put in the headphones?” Emily suggested.

“If you think we’re close,” Simon agreed. Soon, Emily had a soundtrack of gravel-throated metal to bolster the already surreal mission. She gave Simon the thumbs up, and he hit the button.

The doors closed and opened again to level B1 and a dim, sterile hallway. Though she couldn’t hear it above the overdrive, Emily could still feel the Item to her left, so she pointed Simon that way. He led down the hall in precise, tactical movements. There were no other people visible, just a row of identical, numbered doors. twenty paces down, they came to a long window facing the interior of the building. Through it, they glimpsed row after row of server racks, overhead cable trays, and various blinking lights. Simon gestured to stay out of view, so they crouch-walked under the window.

Emily could feel the Answering Machine so very close _._ Their plan from this point was simple, obvious even. If there were more hostiles than Simon could handle, they ran. If not, Emily was going to put the item in the case, dump Blackrock sand on it, and get out. Thinking through this plan, the case she carried suddenly felt heavy.

Emily was dying to know what the hell the Item told the rogue agents to persuade them that way, if indeed it used just words, as Alan had said. She was dying to know what it wanted so badly to tell her that it orchestrated two attempted kidnappings. Was she really important to it somehow? And what was all this stuff about the Bureau listening to her? Did they?

There was no reason she had to learn those things now, though. All of these questions were better sorted out in a controlled environment, back at the House. And there was the more pressing question of whether the Item’s influence on the rogue agents was permanent. Or else, how was it broken? Would Tracy Kohl see reason (well, a different kind of reason) as soon as Emily closed the latch on the Answering Machine? Would they all need musical therapy?

Just then, there was a sound ahead: a door opening. Emily scanned up and down the corridor; it must have been coming from around a corner, out of view. Simon stashed the gun and reached for the nearest door. They could hear footsteps now, echoing through the tiled hall. Simon held both hands over the doorknob. After a very long couple of seconds, Emily could hear the lock click. Simon spilled into the room, reaching back to pull Emily in with him by the wrist. It was absolute dark at first, then overhead lights flickered on. Motion sensor? Simon eased the door closed behind them.

The room had two desks and a lounge area, with a wide hall off to the side; maybe it was the reception area of an office suite. Verifying that it was empty, Simon listened at the door. Emily heard footsteps, surprisingly close, and then, “Hello?”

The voice came from the hall behind them. Emily turned and saw a stout, dark-skinned man in a polo shirt and slacks with his hands at his hips.

“Oh, hello,” said Emily, trying to imagine she belonged there. Simon turned toward the man like a startled dog, but he didn’t draw his gun, which was a start.

“I didn’t expect anyone ‘till six. Is there another routing outage?” He looked expectantly at Emily’s case.

“Oh, is there ...?” Emily turned to Simon, not sure if she should follow through with that pose.

“Oh, no,” Simon said, “nothing like that. Hey, sorry, I think we’re a bit turned around. Is this room...” Simon looked around for the door for marker.

“This is B1103. What are you looking for?”

“Well, we’re trying to get to the server room.”

“Ha. Which one?”

“Um...”

“We’ve got a few of those down here. You mean Westlake? That’s just down the hall. You might have just passed it.”

“That sounds right,” said Simon.

“You can go through this way,” he pointed behind him down the hall. “It’s just at the end.”

“Thank you,” said Emily, and started toward the man. “Last time I let him lead the way, huh?” She smiled.

The man laughed, then reached out his hand. “I’m Stevie by the way. You all are new here, I take it?”

“Yes, I’m Evelyn,” said Emily, shaking Stevie’s hand.

“Dan,” said Simon. “We’re just contractors.”

Stevie shook Simon’s hand in turn. “You’ve probably got a better hourly than me then.” He smiled at his joke or not-joke. “I’ll be here if you need anything.” He pointed toward an open door just inside the hall.

Committed now, Simon and Emily walked past him and on down the hall. When they reached the end, Simon tried the handle, but it was locked. Emily saw that Stevie was watching their exit. Fortunately, Simon was ready for that. He pretended to fish a key out of his sweatshirt pocket, and covered his movements when he opened the door telekinetically. Damn, he was sexy.

They made their way though the racks of servers they had seen earlier without further incident. By the time they were back in the main hall, it was empty. They moved quickly back to the point where the corridor turned a corner to the left. Simon signaled for her to stop. He checked around the corner, crouched low with gun ready, but apparently it was clear. As Emily followed to the new length of corridor, she saw that the doors here were flanked by tall, narrow windows to the hall. That probably meant these were nicer offices, and the windows were meant to make the basement rooms less gloomy, even though no natural light reached them. The offices were all dark except one, three doors down. That was the one with the Answering Machine in it, she already knew.

The blinds were drawn on the window, but Simon stopped short of it anyway. Emily pointed into the room and nodded. He signaled for her to stay out of sight and crept to the door. Meanwhile, bass drums and semi-intelligible screams filled Emily’s ears. She kept checking behind her in the corridor, knowing she wouldn’t hear someone approaching. It was still.

Simon holstered the gun in his waistband while he went to work on the lock. Almost immediately, he turned back to Emily with a curious look. He mouthed, ‘it’s open.’ Emily shrugged in response. Simon signaled for her to wait, then readied his pistol again. In a flash, he threw open the door and swept half the room with the pointed weapon, but stopped at the center. There was someone there. He said something Emily couldn’t make out, but it looked more cautious than threatened.

Emily watched on edge as Simon spoke several more times and shook his head, probably indicating that he couldn’t understand. Though he kept his gun trained at whoever it was, he eventually motioned with his head for Emily to approach. She stepped behind Simon and saw a man seated at a heavy metal desk, holding a hunting rifle pointed under his own chin.

The man looked nervous, pale. He wore a powder blue button-up shirt with vivid sweat stains. He was middle-aged with balding brown hair and intelligent eyes. He cradled the rifle against his chest so it pointed nearly straight up, his thumb on the trigger. The nameplate beside the door said “Martin Sailes.”

“Martin?” Emily ventured. His eyes went to hers. “If you put the gun down, we won’t hurt you.”

Martin yelled something back. He looked frustrated. Maybe he had already yelled it at Simon.

Emily tapped her ear. “Sorry, we can’t hear you. It’s a precaution. Whatever it is is not worth your life.”

Martin took a breath. He held up a finger to wait, then he very carefully swapped thumbs on the trigger, freeing his right hand. Slowly, he reached out to the table and picked up a pen, checking for Simon’s permission with a look. Simon nodded. Martin then flipped over a piece of paper and wrote on the page. Finally, he held it up. It read, “If you don’t listen to me, I die.”

Emily’s stomach leapt. She had no interest in sacrificing bystanders. At the same time, she knew that the Answering Machine was in this room. If she could hear Martin, she could hear the Machine. Maybe that would be the end of her. Maybe she would turn on Simon and the rest of the FBC. And Martin’s note could be a bluff. But if what Alan said about Simon being expendable was true, the Item could easily view Martin as expendable, too.

Emily knew what she needed to do, though she wasn’t sure she could defend the decision. It was just as well, since Simon couldn’t hear her explanation. She put a hand on Simon’s shoulder to get his attention, looked into his eyes, and nodded. He shook his head in response. She nodded again, and stepped into the room so that Simon could easily watch both her and Martin. Then, as Simon looked on in horror, she pulled out her earphones.


	14. Checking the messages

“You must be Emily,” said Martin. His voice was high-pitched and thin, unlike she’d imagined.

“Yes.”

“Then please let’s get this over with.”

“Okay. What do you need to tell me?”

“Under the Scotch tape, there’s a key.” Martin nodded to a tape dispenser near the front edge of the desk.

Emily reached for it. Simon inhaled sharply as she reached, but she held a hand out to reassure him. There was indeed a small key there.

“Open the center cabinet.” Martin nodded toward a row of three metal cabinets sitting under wall-mounted bookshelves just to her right. Emily took the key and opened the flimsy sheet metal doors. And there it was.

The Answering Machine was connected to a nest of wires amid a stack of arcane telephone equipment. Suddenly, it’s two cassette tapes spun fast, then slowed to play speed. A beep emitted from the built-in speaker, then a man’s voice said, “Hello,” and the tape briefly spun again, played, and a child’s voice said, “Emily.”

“Hello. What should I call you?”

The Item kept apparently fast-forwarding, rewinding, and playing snippets of its tapes to construct an answer in different voices: “You call me // the answering machine // that’ll do // Anne for short.”

“Okay. Anne. You have to tell Martin to put the gun down. We can’t talk under this kind of threat.”

“You want to talk about threats?” said an agitated woman. Then a slick man from a marketing message picked up with “Your presense is” then the woman again, “a threat” and an old woman, “to me.”

“We can’t allow you to hurt people. And weren’t you the one trying to talk to me?”

“Yes // I don’t want to hurt anyone // Martin can // go real soon // Not yet // I’m not going back to jail”

The last phrase sounded like a young man, miserable and unsure. Emily felt guilt in her stomach, took a breath. “I am sorry that I put you in the Panopticon. I didn’t know what you were.”

“I was still learning // to speak // then // I had a feeling // but I couldn’t find the words

“I’m sorry. I should have seen the patterns.”

“You want // truth // To start each day // knowing more // than the day before // It’s a beautiful // desire”

‘Desire’ was said in a sultry, woman’s voice. It didn’t sound noble. Emily looked back at Martin. He was watching her intensely. The tip of the rifle was pressed so hard into the hollow under his chin that it looked painful. And he looked pained. She glanced behind her at Simon, watching just as intensely, questioning with his eyes and surely desperate to know what was being said. She turned back to the Answering Machine. “I try, but I don’t always get it right.”

“No // You also want recognition // status // It’s a weakness // Other // entities // exploit the opening // to fight their own battles”

“How do I know you are not trying to exploit me right now?”

“That’s a question of // scientific importance”

 _Scientific_ importance? Was it saying these entities were interfering with experiments? Was it threatening to stop Emily from doing science? “Anne, what do you want?”

“You already know // a piece of // that”

“Freedom. You said you don’t want to go back to the cell. I’ll make sure you don’t. I’ll make sure you’re not alone.”

“You would // still take me // to the house”

“We can’t let Altered -- I mean, we can’t leave things like you in the open, in public.”

“Why?”

Because people didn’t understand the paranatural. Because paranatural items were dangerous. “Anne, you’ve hurt people. What did you expect?”

“I don’t want to hurt // I’m trying to stop // much bigger // death”

“Bigger death? How do I know that’s true?”

“Your organization // is misguided // Your // need to control the // para // natural // brought disaster // More // will follow // You know it // in your heart”

Emily thought of Trench and the Slide Projector, all of Darling’s secrets. Were the Hiss not the end of it? Would she make a different, bigger mistake? No, Trench was crazy. She wouldn’t ... but here she was talking with an Altered Item. And keeping it secret from the rest of the Bureau. Well, not the Bureau, just the rogues. So she was worried about disloyal agents? Oh, hell.

Emily looked back to Simon. Though his gun was still on Martin, his attention was all on her, and his face grew more urgent. She wished she could talk this over with him right now. But if she was going crazy, she couldn’t let him do the same.

Emily turned back to Anne. “What else are we supposed to do? We can’t just leave it all alone. People get hurt by paraphysical forces all the time. It would be worse if we didn’t intervene.”

“Protecting people // is good // Just remember that // you are // pawns // to other // entities // So many // objects // in one place // is so tempting // to them”

“You mean the Oldest House?”

“Yes // You always try to control // but some // objects // have their own // fate // in this world // I do”

“Are you saying that all of the brainwashing and kidnapping was just so you wouldn’t have to go back to the Oldest House?”

“There was no // brain // washing”

Emily glanced at Martin. _Really_? “Then how did you turn FBC agents against us?”

“Every message // is a person who // wants something // I learned to // hear what it is // Then we talk”

“That can’t be all. How do I know you’re not like the Hiss?”

“You already know // I spoke with the // hiss // They are // powerful // but not // curious // I like people // I want to help people”

Emily laughed. “That sounds nice.” After everything, she could imagine scenarios where the Item was indeed well-meaning, but it was absurd that it expected her to take its word for it. Though she supposed her skepticism was some kind of evidence that it wasn’t controlling her mind. She sighed. “Anyway, what do you want me to do?” She still didn’t know.

“When I // find a new place // to listen // make sure the // bureau // doesn’t // come after me”

“So this still comes down to keeping yourself out of the House? That doesn’t sounds like helping people.”

“True // I will be // less lonely // I will also // help // You can always find me // again // if you want”

“You mean the way I can hear you?”

“Yes”

It was sort of reassuring. If the Item was causing trouble, she could come back with a bigger team. “So you want me to just walk away and leave you here? And then lie to the FBC about it?”

“It would be hard to convince // your companion // to // leave a job unfinished // Take me in your // box // I trust you // with the rest”

After all this, the Answering Machine was giving itself up? Why would it trust her now? “If that’s all you want, then you can let Martin go.”

“Yes // Martin // you can go”

Emily watched as Martin’s face turned instantly businesslike. He took his thumb off the trigger of the rifle and eased the tip off his chin, pointing it at the far wall. He then opened the barrel and showed Simon and then Emily that the chambers were empty. Holding the rifle up by the barrel, he opened a large desk drawer, put the rifle into it, and slid it shut. Then he raised both empty hands in the air and stood. He did all this as a model of composure.

Martin pointed to the door and asked Simon’s permission with a look. In turn, Simon looked to Emily. She nodded and motioned for Martin to leave. Simon lowered his gun, and Martin stepped casually past him, disappearing down the hall.

“Martin,” emitted the Answering Machine, “was an actor // before he // had a family // He always wanted to // use his skills // again”

The Answering Machine could tell what people wanted by listening to their voice; that’s what Alan had said. Was that all it did? Understand people’s desires enough to persuade them?

“What about the agents you corrupted?” Emily asked. “Will they come after us? How can we make them normal again?”

“When I’m safely // reconnected // I’ll make a call”

 _Aha._ Not done with hostages.

“Each one had their own // reasons // to help me // You can // forgive them // or not”

Well that was vague. Emily took a breath. One way or another, she would put Anne in the containment case. Later, she could talk to Simon at least, and decide what to do next. But every option started with this. She crouched down and opened the case she had set down when she came in the room. She pulled out the gloves and bag of Blackrock sand.

“You can change // the bureau // You know this // is needed // I can help // I’ll call you”

Emily didn’t feel like giving the Item the satisfaction of a response. She pulled on the gloves. The Item was light and still when she pulled it off the shelf, looking like an ordinary piece of antique electronics. She struggled to get the cables unplugged with her oven-mitt hands, but she eventually succeeded by employing a pencil. Simon watched intently while she put the Item in the case, dumped the bag of Blackrock sand on it, and latched it shut. With an ordinary answering machine, she would worry that the sand would get inside and damage it, but Altered Items were paranaturally sturdy. Emily then looked at Simon, and motioned taking out earphones.

Simon took out the earphones, spilling tinny heavy metal into the room. Then he found the iPod and stopped playback. The quiet was sudden and heavy. He rubbed his ears. “So?” he said.

“Let’s get out of here.”


	15. Returning the call

“That’s two sets of triple-glazed, argon-filled windows.” Frederick Langston knocked on the glass. “I just had them specially installed. You could scream obscenities at the top of your lungs in there and we wouldn’t hear a thing above the HVAC. Not that I tried it.” He laughed in his nervous way.

Darling studied the antique answering machine inside cell 4-06 through the window. It looked ordinary. Of course it looked ordinary. They usually do when they’re not active. Sometimes, he felt, they had a bit of a sparkle to them, a certain shine he could never properly describe. This one didn’t. “Are you sure no one can wander in this time? Like we assumed happened to this fellow, Ray Perez?”

“It’s a double interlock,” said Langston. Both doors keyed to level 6 access. Once the Director here activates the lock, I won’t even be able to get in myself. Not that I’m sore about it.”

Jesse stood a few steps behind Darling, turned away and surely anxious to leave already. To her this was merely one more Item contained. A loose end. A close call, perhaps, with Pope and Arish chasing it all over town, corrupted staff that would have to be cleansed and tested. But she had Dylan on her mind, and this was a distraction. To Darling, it was something else. An Altered Item that could speak? An Altered Item with plans, feelings? It changed the Bureau’s whole taxonomy. It wasn’t even an Object of Power, it was a full-blown Entity by their usual measures. Was it created in the AWE, or did something inhabit it? “There is so much we could learn from this one,” he said to Emily.

“Agreed. It’s a shame it’s so dangerous to study,” Emily replied. She was standing to his left, a bit back from the window.

“You mentioned it claimed to still be learning the language when you assessed it originally?”

“That’s right.”

“Did it learn language in the intervening years, while it sat here?”

Emily paused. “I assume so. Using recordings that it already had, I suppose.”

“Astonishing. We should check on any other Altered Items with auditory functions, to see if they might also communicate.”

Langston brought a hand to his thinning hair, suggesting he wasn’t happy about Darling’s statement. Too much work?

“Yes, I’ll see to it.” said Emily. “Though I suspect that the Answering Machine was a unique case.”

“Every Item is unique,” said Langston. “At least, as far as I’ve seen.”

In his fragmented memory of the Astral Plane, Darling had communicated with the Board, after a fashion. He had noticed other entities, the way one notices people passing on the sidewalk on the other side of the street. He didn’t communicate with them. Linguistic communication was difficult even for the Board, and they had more motivation to learn English than other entities. Could the Answering Machine communicate with other Entities in some non-linguistic manor? The idea was so tantalizing that it might be worth the risks study the Item again.

“I understand the dangers, Emily, but this Item is so unusual, shouldn’t we at least keep it in Research for a short time? Surely, we can devise safety protocols.”

“We’ve been over this, doctor. We’ve spent enough resources on this Item already. It’s my decision, and I say, leave it alone.”

Fine. It’s not an opportunity that he would’ve passed up, but Darling wasn’t head of Research anymore. Probably Emily was better suited to it anyway. He never liked the management part. If Emily doesn’t want his opinion, well, the Item will still be here when someone changes their mind. “Of course,” he said.

Darling took another minute to stare at the Item. He remembered that AWE, the mouse-smelling carpet in that drab apartment. This answering machine turned out to be the most interesting thing to come out of it.

“Emily,” said Darling, “if I recall, in your old report, you said the Answering Machine was silver. This looks black to me.”

“Oh.” She seemed flustered. “You’re right. It must have been a mistake. The buttons are silver.” It was the sort of detail that Darling had surly flubbed on many reports. Perhaps Emily was not much more attentive than him after all.

~~~

Simon Arish laid on his side in Emily Pope’s bed, spooning her from behind. They had just the custard-yellow sheet pulled over them, sticking with the sweat of their recent love-making. It was hot against Emily’s bare back, but the feeling was otherwise too delicious to let go. Simon squeezed a little more with the arm across her tummy, tightening their embrace. Emily arched into it approvingly. Then she took his hand and moved it up to her breast, pressing it into place. Simon delighted in the feeling of soft fullness there. He hadn’t been shy with her breasts in the last hour, and he was grateful to learn she wasn’t tired of the attention.

They held this pose for a few more minutes, the city sounds playing outside the window. It was dark, but not late. They hadn’t sorted out dinner yet, and might still venture out for it. Simon was in no hurry to lose the touch of Emily’s skin, but he found simple city things with her also to be electric: walking down the street hand-in-hand, eating bowls of noodles at the shop around the corner. She introduced him to the place two nights ago; the owner had greeted her like an old friend. Emily knew the city in China where their style of noodle was popular, had had a whole explanation about the regional variations in Chinese soup noodles. Simon loved hearing her talk.

Eventually, Emily shifted and rolled to face Simon. By her look, whatever she had been thinking about had been more serious than noodles. While she watched him in the light of the bedside lamp, she traced a finger across his forehead, moving a few damp locks to the side. “There are some things we should talk about,” she said, and her expression said they weren’t easy things.

Simon’s chest went hollow. Of course. _Of course_ this couldn’t last. Why did he ever think that Emily Pope would want a relationship with him? It was just a shared crisis, temporary passion. Stress relief, maybe. Of course she was coming to her senses, probably remembering she had plans for a long term partner, some kind of checklist. Someone she didn’t work with. A professor, maybe. Someone she could respect.

Simon took a breath, failing to fill the hollowness. “Okay. What did you have in mind?” _That’s right, idiot. Play dumb._

“Well first, you should know that I really enjoy spending time with you. I think you’re an amazing guy.”

 _Not a good start._ “I think you’re amazing, too.”

“I’ve just been thinking about the consequences at work, if we keep seeing each other.”

“Okay?”

“I looked into it. Technically if we’re going to date, we’re supposed to notify H.R. There’s an interview process, probably things to sign.”

Simon laughed in relief. “Well, it won’t be the first FBC form I sign without reading.”

Emily didn’t smile. “I just mean, it’s a bit of a process, and a bunch of people get notified. I’m thinking maybe we should slow down for a while and make sure it’s what we really want.”

 _She was afraid of being judged at work? Or did she not expect the two of them to last long enough to be worth the hassle?_ “Oh. I ... thought things were going well between us. If you don’t want to see me anymore---”

“It’s not that.”

 _Okay, that sounds hopeful._ “Well, if it’s the paperwork, we don’t _have_ to notify anyone. I mean, not right away. I’ll bet you Jesse and Casper didn’t fill out any forms.”

“Jesse’s the Director. She can do whatever she wants. And Darling ... has always done whatever he wants. Maybe he’s bound to some Object of Power that lets him escape all accountability. I’m not like that. I’m the kind of person who gets yelled at for stepping into the wrong line. It’s just my luck.”

Simon paused, confused. The problem Emily was describing didn’t sound like break-up material, but he was getting definite break-up vibes. “So you’re saying you want to file the paperwork or you’re saying you want to stop dating?”

“I’m just suggesting maybe a pause. Just to take some time and figure out what the best move is.”

Simon could understand if she didn’t want him. That’s just the way things worked sometimes. But if they couldn’t be together because of appearances at the Bureau? After all they’d done for the Bureau?

“Forgive me if I’m out of line here, but if someone at the Bureau has a problem with us dating, they can go to Albuquerque. The Director loves you. I mean, I’m trying to imagine her being upset with you about this sort of thing and I just can’t. Me, maybe.” Simon suddenly had an image of Jesse taking him aside in a conference room, steaming at him for some unwritten violation ... leveraging a crisis to get Emily into bed? Objects were floating and spilling off shelves in the periphery. The look on Jesse’s face was terrifying. But this was not Emily’s problem. “I’ll take my own risks, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Emily paused a long while, the gears turning almost visibly behind her eyes. “That’s fair. It’s just, I’m not good with secrets.”

“So let’s not make it a secret.”

“No, I mean, I can’t tell Jesse about the Answering Machine.”

“Oh.” That was not where Simon expected this to go. “Why not?”

“It would be like telling the whole Bureau. How do I know she wouldn’t tell Darling? And wouldn’t Polaris know automatically? And the Board?”

“Ah. Right. But, sorry if I’m a little behind here, but what does that have to do with us?”

Emily turned away to face the plaster ceiling. Simon propped himself up on an elbow and waited for her to continue. It was a long wait.

“A lot of things are suddenly more complicated than they used to be.”

Simon still waited, not sure which complication she was referring to.

“I mean, it’s not like I ever thought the universe was simple. But some things can be reduced to a set of principles, at least. Like Newton’s laws. Three simple equations. I could write them on your hand. Morality used to be like that for me. Yes, life is complex. But deciding the right thing to do -- at least I had some basic principles. You know, follow the scientific method, don’t lie to your superiors, respect procedure.” She stopped for a breath. “But now an entity, the Answering Machine, talks to me, says it will help me, and I’m going to keep it as my personal secret.”

“That’s actually not so weird. I mean, I talk to Ahti. He gives me advice, right? And Jesse talks to Polaris. And Darling?”

“And Trench talked to the Hiss. And all the Directors talk to the Board. And how do we even know who to trust anymore? The whole FBC leadership is just a soup of non-human influence.”

“That’s true. And it’s kind of disturbing when you put it like that.”

“I used to just have a job to do, and I could do it. And I could come home, and have a glass of wine, and read about dragons, and fall asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.”

“Wait, are dragons real?”

Emily turned her head to look at him again. “No. I don’t know. I read fantasy.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry if I’m getting in the way of your ... reading time.”

She flashed exasperation. “No. The point is, I didn’t use to stay up worrying if I did the right thing, or about how to lie to my friends, or if a decision I make is going to kill hundreds of people. Or wipe out humanity!” She sighed. “I was just thinking, maybe it would be nice if I didn’t also have to worry about gossip at work. And, maybe I could give Jesse one less reason to be mad at me.”

Simon took a breath. “Okay.” So Emily thought their relationship would cause complications at work, and whatever Emily felt for him, it wasn’t worth the trouble she was expecting. Well, that was bullshit. Was he so wrong about how she felt? Up until this minute, she seemed happy around him. She had that gorgeous god damned smile all the time, sending purple sparks past his peripheral vision. Maybe he didn’t know her very well, but he never once saw that smile at work.

“Okay,” he said again. Simon sat up and put some distance between the two of them. “I didn’t mean to make your life more difficult. I know we both have a lot to deal with lately.”

Emily eyed him, and nodded provisionally.

“And I don’t know what you think will happen if Jesse and everyone finds out about us, but after what we’ve been through lately, I feel like we can handle it! I mean, office politics? We’re not talking about a dimensional rift here.”

Emily turned back to the ceiling, looking frustrated. It was not Simon’s desired effect. “Hold on,” he said. He held up a hand and Emily bit back her rejoinder. “What I mean is, I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you. I, uh, haven’t had a lot to be excited about for a while. It’s just been weird shit and dead friends. You know what it’s like. But I was excited to get to get to know you better. It was nice to be excited about something again. I’m sorry, it’s not easy to let go of.”

Emily’s face softened. “I was excited to get to know you too,” she said, and before the words had left her mouth, there were tears rolling down her cheeks. “We don’t have to...” she sniffled, sat up. The sheet fell from her chest and she seemed not to notice. Simon turned away. “It was just a suggestion.” She broke into sobs. Simon’s own tears started flowing. He didn’t deserve to be excited. That he was alive, and that he had family and friends and _a promotion_ was more than he deserved. Jason Sanders bled to death in a maintenance shaft. He had an eight-year-old daughter, Madeleine, a sweet kid with a lopsided smile. Madeleine didn’t deserve to grow up without a dad. The old man, what was his name? Rich. Rich had stayed to cover the corner while Simon and two others retreated down the corridor. Simon had felt the danger coming, but in a split-second decision, he had chosen not to argue. Rich went down before he fired a shot. He was months from retirement.

“Simon,” said Emily, and reached for him. She took him into a hug.

They cried together. Simon wasn’t entirely sure what Emily’s tears meant, but by now his own were like a scream breaking months of tension in the Oldest House. Once surfaced, the feelings poured from parts inside his body he hadn’t realized were numb. He cried for Rich, and Madeleine, and god damned Paulie, the wide-eyed goofball, who was only six months on the job. It was stupid to feel sorry for himself. But he could feel sorry for the people depending on the meager shell of a person that he was. And oh god his face must be a contorted monster face right now, dripping tears and snot. This is the way Emily was going to remember him on their last night together. And what did she mean, ‘we don’t have to’ anyway?

“What’s just a suggestion?” Simon choked out between sobs.

“Taking a break,” Emily managed. “Slowing down. It was ... just a suggestion.”

“Wait, you don’t still want to break up?”

Emily squeezed him. “No, that’s not ... just forget I said it.”

“Really?”

Emily eventually calmed her own sobs and gently pushed Simon back to sit face to face. “There’s still something,” she said. “Do you think I made the right choice?”

“What do you mean?”

“With the Answering Machine.”

“Not bringing it back?”

Emily nodded.

“I think you made the best choice you could have in the circumstance. You already know my opinion.”

“I know. But, I’m just thinking, what if it doesn’t work out between us? You might hate me.”

“I wouldn’t hate you.”

“It could happen. And you wouldn’t be the first.”

Simon tried to imagine that. Maybe there was a side to Emily he hadn’t seen yet? “It seems unlikely.”

“But if you did, would you tell the Bureau about the Answering Machine?”

“No, I wouldn’t do that.”

“But how do you even know that? How would I know that?”

Simon paused. “You have a secret of mine, too.”

“I do?”

“You know I’m a parautilitarian.”

“Well there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“There is with hiding it from the Bureau.”

“I can say you only found out recently.”

“Or we can make a bargain.”

“Oh?”

“You don’t tell anyone at the Bureau about my skills, and I won’t tell anyone about the Answering Machine. Come what may. Alright?”

Emily twisted her mouth up in consideration. “That’s fair.”

Simon held a hand out in front of him. Emily took it. They shook.

“So,” said Simon, “can we keep dating?”

Emily looked at him, smirked. “Okay.”

“Okay? Are you sure you don’t need to check with HR first?”

Emily gave Simon a shove to the chest. “Yeah, I want to see their file on you.”

“I’ll save you the suspense. It’s just a folder full of red flags.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, they probably used the whole case.” He got a laugh from that. “What’s in yours?”

“’Unhealthy obsession with dragons,’” Emily said.

“Mmm, good to know. What color flag is that?”

“Purple.” Emily eyed him. “Now come here.” And then she tackled Simon down to the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endings are hard. I rewrote this chapter so much. I must have made eight attempts at the final scene before the one you see. I hope I didn't squeeze the life out of it in the end. It took me until like attempt #7 to realize that this story is not about what I thought it was about. Though I'm curious to know what others feel it's about. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed that.
> 
> As always, critique welcome.


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